On the Alberta/Montana Border: Jail Break

Okay, yes, this story is about Halloween. And yes we are far on either side of said Halloween.

But still, it seemed apropos.

The reason will become apparent…

Mom, Sally and I were spending a glorious two weeks in a small town in Maine. You have to know that this was several years ago, when Sally and I were sixteen.

Pre-Mort. (Or Peter or Pete.)

And Mom and I were still rather at the mercy of the loquacious and friendly and adventurous SALLY.

For those of you who know Sally, it will come as no surprise that she was already well-known to every single member of the community.

My indefatigable sister had saved a couple of little boys who had fallen into a cistern by jumping into the—fortunately—only chest-deep water and then holding both of them above the surface and screaming for help.

She had foiled an attempt at a boat theft by secretly tying a line to the pier.

And she had single-handedly saved the morning rush and many hungry tummies at the local diner when, upon seeing the single server collapse somewhere between the dining room and the kitchen, she threw down her napkin and pitched in.

Of course I—and sometimes Mom—was usually somewhere in the vicinity.

But Sally was the instigator.

Then—Halloween.

Sally and I had long since given up the idea of going door-to-door and instead had taken to wandering around the darkened neighbourhoods making sure the kiddles were safe.

In costume, of course.

In our neighbourhood, we had become an accepted part of the Halloween landscape.

Here? Not so much.

Now the small-town sheriff, having dealt with mischievous teens in years past had decided, this year, to be proactive.

And dutifully gone about town picking them up before they could get into mischief.

Okay, yes, it was probably the most peaceful Trick-or-Treat night on record.

Sally had skipped across the street from me to help a dragon whose tail had gotten caught in a wrought-iron fence.

And that’s when the sheriff spotted me.

I did protest.

But was whisked away with five other kids about my age in his patrol car.

Good thing we were all skinny.

Okay. Part of me thought this was all rather exciting and, knowing I had done nothing wrong, I was quite ready to embrace the adventure.

I had lived with Sally for most of my life…

The sheriff duly delivered us to his station—a lonely little brick building halfway down the block and across the alley from the aforementioned diner.

And put us all into one of the two cells. A good old-fashioned one right out of the movies. With iron bars, a tiny window—now dark—and a toilet in the corner.

The other cell contained a snoring, scantily-clad woman with a whorl of pink hair and a police coat over the little she was wearing.

The boys in our group thought she was…interesting and I know my eyes popped just a bit.

Anyways, the six of us all found seats next to each other on the two bunks and prepared to wait for the parents the sheriff promised to call as he was disappearing down the hall to the office and reception area.

We had been chatting a bit and I was just getting to know them when the back door mysteriously swung open.

Okay, why was the back door of the police station unlocked? Anyone?

Of course, it was Sally.

We all stopped talking and stared.

My mind started going a million miles an hour. Do I admit she’s my sister?

Do I feign ignorance?

She glanced up the hallway and approached the cell we were in, then whipped out—I am not making this up—a hacksaw.

And yes, I know what a hacksaw is.

There was a collective gasp and a few chuckles.

She just grinned at us and went to work high up on one of the bars.

Faster than I would have imagined, she was through and attacking lower down.

When she was about ¾ of the way through, one of the boys—probably in an obvious bid to look…buff…pulled down on the bar, bending it inward toward us.

The space between the remaining bars was now considerably wider than before.

Remember when I said we were skinny.

Well, that comes into play here.

One by one, the kids slipped out through the opening and darted out the still-open back door.

I was the last to leave. I turned to Sally. “I wonder what the fallout will be from this prank?” I whispered.

Sally just grinned. “Let’s find out, shall we?” She slipped into the cell I had just left and laid down on one of the cots.

“Sally. What are you doing?”

“It’s no fun sparking something unless you want to see it go off!”

“Ummm…”

“Go! I’ll tell you how it ends!”

I didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted.

As a loyal sister, I waited just outside the back door.

There was the sound of footsteps. The sheriff’s voice. “Okay. Reed, your dad’s here to…”

I could see it in my head. The astonishment. The…unbelief.

"Sir!” Sally’s voice. “There’s been a jailbreak!”

Oddly enough there was very little fallout from this escapade. I guess a dozen disgruntled parents—one of them the mayor and her husband—upset over their kids being hauled off to the hoosegow without provocation made them all just a tad…well…disgruntled.

I’m sure the bar got replaced.

Maybe the sheriff also.

I just know that without Sally, things would have ended quite differently.

The reason I’m telling you this?

Mom and Dad want to take all of us out to Maine this fall to see the foliage. Dad actually booked us rooms at a B&B in the same town.

Wish us--and the town--luck.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post with the understanding that all words be used at least once. All the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.