You Really Don't Want To Open That.

After I had written this short story someone broke into my daughter’s home and proceeded to ransack the place. They went through my daughter's jewelry box and, just like shopping at a high end retailer, went shopping for free. A lot of what this character took for the most part were things of little to no value to anyone other than Gina and some of them she had had since she was quite small. The one thing they should have left well enough alone, the thing that meant more than anything else they took. This ass took what amounted to part of my daughter’s heart.
This object was a tiny, ornate, quite lovely little vial with a light grayish powder in it. I'm sure this moron thought he had just hit the mother payload and had scored some expensive nose candy. He hadn't. It was some of my Mom's ashes and I hope the SOB did snort it. If he did I have the satisfaction of knowing that my Mom now possess this little sack of crap and he can never ever escape her and I can say with full certainty that she is making his life a living hell. So if you live in Memphis, broke into a home near the Copper-Young area a couple of years ago, took a guitar that meant more than you could ever know to the owner, and a little vial of gray powder I have no doubt you are living in hell and I laugh over it. Teehee.

Within my purse there is a horror story of such unbelievable pain, misery, and humiliation waiting to spring forth and turn my world and the world of some poor unsuspecting law enforcement officer into something worthy of Dean Koontz or Steven King.  Hell awaits within that seemingly innocent bag I carry around with me.

You Don't Want to Open That

I see it now.  I get pulled over by a cop and I'm thinking that this is going to be one of those times when I get pulled over for one of those strange reasons and I'm suddenly a suspect in something major.  This means I get pulled out of my car and patted down, God I hope he is at least attractive, and my car and personal possessions are searched.
From out of my purse they pull out a vial.  The vial.  It is small and glass and in it is something no one but me could ever understand.  It is something that I really don't want to have to explain.  How can I?
As the officer removes the suspicious little bottle I speak.
"Please put that back."
Cop:  "Why?  What's in it?"
Me:  "Just please put it back."
Now here I'm wondering if me having this is even legal.
I watch as the officer starts to unscrew the top.
Me:  "You don't want to do that."
I watch in horror as the officer begins to lift the top of the little vial.
Me:  "Don't."
I'm too late because the top is all the way off the the officer has now put his finger to the top and is about put it to his tongue as he is lifting the little glass vial under his nose.
Me:  "Stop, you really really don't want to so that."
Cop:  "Why?"
Fortunately the officer has stopped midway between his nose and his mouth with the substance.
Me:  "Put the top back on and I'll tell you but I don't want you dropping it."
Now you can only imagine what must be going though this officers mind at this point.  'What kind of crazy have I got on my hands here and he starts calling in all kinds of backup.  Is she a dope dealer, a terrorist with some deadly virus?'
The cop stops a minute but decides that obviously I'm dealing or at least holding some major narcotics and is going to prove his theory and continues on with his earlier actions.
Me:  "Stop, that's my mom."
Now the thing that was the second biggest concern has come to be and the mortified officer drops the opened vial there at the side of the road.  I watch in horror as my mom goes flying out in a gust of wind to be scattered along this stupid road in the middle of nowhere, a place my mom wouldn't have been caught dead.  Well not of her own accord anyway because this blasted road is now where she is.
Cop:  "What the fuck?"
As the tears roll down my cheeks I'm handcuffed and thrown into the back of a squad car as the police try to figure this one out and whether or not I've committed some crime or crimes.  I could think of one maybe.  Does carrying some of your mothers ashes on you constitute abuse of a corpse?  If that is the case what has the officer just done when he dropped her and sent her sailing into the wind?
What brought about this story?  Well I was cleaning out my purse and I found the vial.