At the age of one and a half a child’s still developing.  Infants can walk and enjoy exploring around, satisfying their growing sense of curiosity.  At eighteen months, babies typically speak around 100 words and usually understand more words than they can speak.  A child, however, is not always able to understand concepts or commands.  Children of younger ages are not able to comprehend the idea of locking and unlocking objects.  This is why we have locks, to keep people safe.  But what happens when safety depends on the ability to undo a lock?   

It was summer time when I was about eight years old.  This day wasn’t different from any other summer’s day other than the fact it was blistering hot outside.  Our family just got back from shopping at the local grocery store.  Both of my parents exited the truck to start unloading the goods from the store.  Meanwhile, my brother Mason and I climbed out of the back seat to go chase each other around in the yard like brothers do.  Out of the three of us kids, I was the oldest.  Mason, the middle child at six years old.  Lastly was Maverick, only a year and five months old.  He was the baby of the family. 

On my way out of the truck following my brother Mason, I shut the rear driver side door with Maverick still strapped in his car seat.  As we played, my parents unloaded the last of the groceries from the back of the truck.  On her way in, my mother called to me and asked me to bring my baby brother inside to get him out of the heat.  I stopped playing with Mason and proceeded to do as my mother had asked.  I approached the truck and tried to open the rear driver’s side door but it wouldn’t open.  I tried the other three doors and got the same result each time. 

At some point, when or how is still a mystery to me, all the doors to the truck were locked.  I ran inside to where my parents were putting all of our groceries into their correct places and asked my dad for the keys to the truck.  He asked why, and I told him the truck was locked.  My father looked at me like I just swore at my mother.  He couldn’t believe the words I just said.  I did the same thing he had when he asked me where the keys were.  In the truck. 

My mom started panicking and so did I.  My dad quickly stopped what he was doing and ran outside to the truck.  My mother and I followed.  When I got outside I saw Mason getting on his bike, completely oblivious to what was happening.  My dad was already at the truck trying all the doors just as I had, getting the same result as I did.  My mom peeked inside the window at my baby brother who, at this point, dripped in sweat.  It was over 90 degrees that day and Maverick was trapped inside a truck, with all the windows up and no air on.  He was literally cooking alive.  My mom tried to give Maverick directions to unlock the truck, but my brother had no idea what was going on.  Maverick started smiling at our mother like he thought it was a game.  I couldn’t help but feeling that this was somehow my fault.  If I wouldn’t have shut the door when I got out, if I would have just noticed that the doors were locked.

My dad ran back inside to look for a spare key while my mom continued trying to get Maverick to unlock the doors from the inside.  I looked at my baby brother through the window.  His face was red in color.  His hair and shirt both drenched in sweat.  He stopped smiling and his lower lip started shaking.  Tears fell, mixing with sweat drops.  Fear built up in all of us, we saw it in each other’s eyes.  My dad came back outside with a wire coat hanger.  His search for a spare key turned up nothing.  I thought it was the strangest thing when my dad bent the hanger into a strange shape.  He shoved the wire down the window slot and moved it up and down, back and forth, trying to hit the unlock button within the door.  All of his attempts to unlock the door failed. 
My mom pulled out a phone while my dad fidgeted with the door.  She called the sheriff’s department.  My dad gave up on the wire and frantically started searching for different ways to undo the lock.  Maverick was crying at this point, the heat was getting to him.  I was crying.  I looked over, and Mason was still riding his bike.  My mother got off the phone with the sheriff who said he couldn’t get here for another forty-five minutes. 

Maverick was entirely red by now.  He wouldn’t last that long, and everyone knew it. 

My mother looked at my father and cried, “Rick you’ve got to do something!”  With a look of desperation and motivation he rushed into the garage and emerged with a wrench.  He ordered, “Everyone stand back,” so we did.  With one quick swing, the wrench met the driver’s side window and the glass shattered.  My father reached through the broken window and pressed the unlock button.  I felt a wave of relief wash over me. 

My mom opened up the door and unbuckled Maverick from his car seat.  I could see the smile start to appear back to his face as we all hugged him.  My mother brought him inside to cool him off and make sure he was hydrated.  We were all thankful he was okay.  Even Mason was when he later heard about the day’s events.  This was Mavericks first dance with death.