It was December, and our club was having a Christmas toy run, with about two hundred motorcycles parked outside a church. Bikers wore Santa hats on their helmets, and families were lined up to receive gifts. While I was giving out stuffed bears, a girl, who looked around seven years old, stepped out of the line. She wore a coat that was too small for her, and her red wrists peeked out from the sleeves. After taking a bear from me, she dropped it on the ground and grabbed my leather vest tightly. She begged me not to let them take her home and promised to behave.
I knelt down on the cold pavement to be closer to her level, ignoring how my knees felt. I asked her who was taking her home. She pointed behind her without looking, and I noticed a woman in a nice wool coat talking on her phone near a minivan, seemingly unaware that the girl had left the line. I asked if that was her mother, and she quietly told me it was her foster mom named Karen. She said she wasn’t allowed to speak to others. When I asked for her name, she said it was Ava and mentioned she had been living there since summer. This caused my brother Hank, who was next to me holding a box of toys, to stop what he was doing.
What do you think could happen next?
Sources:
Source: bikersbyte.com, by David Hog