In a house inhabited by an eleven year-old boy, peace and quiet is a true commodity. When I get it I resent any interruption, but particularly the jarring ring of an unanticipated telephone call, just as words begin to flow from my fingertips.
“Hey! Didn’t know if you’d heard…Brenda’s house got broken into today.”
An image of my already anxiety-ridden, widowed neighbor filled my mind.
“They broke out two back windows before her alarm went off, but they didn’t get anything.”
I thanked my neighbor for calling, before dropping my head to my hands in an effort to recapture my thoughts.
It wasn’t until mid-day the next day that I felt it. Some time after lunch; after I’d eaten, and conversed, and excused myself to read with hopes for a nap; I felt the violation. My peaceful, uneventful, quiet cul-de-sac had been violated. An unknown person with nefarious goals had roamed my neighborhood. He’d looked at my house. He’d chosen hers over mine. But, he’d looked at my house, with intent.
I reasoned that the sight of three dogs, of appreciable size, jumping at the kitchen door should be enough to thwart even the bravest of thieves. But what if he was armed?
A picture of my assailant immediately filled the screen of my mind. He was dark, and small, and strangely reminiscent of actor, John Leguimazo, in his short stint on ER last year….
Using the powers of reason still available, I did a quick mental inventory of my valuables, deciding that I was fully insured.
Most days, Shane arrives home several minutes before I do. He calls, as he disembarks the school-bus, and we talk as he walks towards our drive. He’s usually in a hurry, and eager to end the conversation in order to free his hands to unlock the door.
When I answer, he is singing along with my ringback. I am quiet. Listening. Appreciating the gift.
Finished, he finally answers my “Hello”.
“Hey! I had a great day today!”
“Great! I’m happy for you! Tell me what was great about it.” I could do this part of the conversation in my sleep.
“Well…” He always hesitates as he picks through the best parts to give me his favorite.
And while he hesitates, my heart beats just a little faster. What if the John is waiting in the house?
“I had a good day in language arts. Ms. Murray was OK today.”
“Oh, good!” I make a mental note to tone down my enthusiasm. “Any other good news?” My voice, now, is measured, and Mom-like.
“I got an eighty on my math quiz?” He poses a question.
“Wow!” Unbidden enthusiasm creeps back in. “How great is that?” My mind spins, searching for more questions.
“Mom?”, more questions. “I need to go now. I need to unlock the door.”
“Go ahead, honey. I’ll hold on.” Beads of sweat adhere to hair, wisping along my forehead, as I force casualness into my voice.
“Um…ok.” And, I hear “Ok…what’s up with that?”
Holding the receiver ever closer to my ear, I hear the rattling of keys in the lock, the force of paws on the door, and barking.
“Get back!” My son says assertively to his greeters.
“Shane?” I fight for measure in my voice.
“Yeah? I’m about to take the dogs out.” He sounds resigned, placating.
“Do me a favor; before you let them out, just peek outside. Are the gates closed?” I pray he doesn’t hear my ragged breathing.
“Uh…yeah!” He makes no effort to hide his derision as he opens the door. “Yeah, Mom…just like always!”
I laugh, hoping that’s all he hears.
“Cool…”, I answer, nonchalantly.
“How close are you?”, he asks between footsteps.
“Close.”
Wishing I was closer…
© Copyright 2007-2009 Stacye Carroll All Rights Reserved
Are We There Yet? 
