Shaggy Hair Boy's music lesson was in fifteen minutes, and I was running late. He’d already taken his books and gone out to the car. As I grabbed my journal and an envelope that needed to be mailed, I could hear the horn honking.
How rude, I thought. He’s trying to hurry me along.
Here I was doing him a favor, driving him to his lesson, and he was behaving like a spoiled brat. Since when did one of my kids act like that? I stomped out the door, my anger mounting with every step, ready to launch into a rant the minute I got into the car.
The sun was glaring off the windshield so it took me a moment to see inside. Shaggy Hair Boy was sitting in the front seat of the car, his face hidden by his long curls. The horn was blaring loudly. He was looking through his piano book, while protecting his ears with his hands. He gave me a tolerant, exasperated look as I opened the car door.
That’s when I looked down at the keys in my hand.
I’d been pushing the panic button.