I have this thing about being alone in the house. Mind you I’m not technically alone – my 7 year old is with me. But by alone I mean “without the comfort of an adult who knows how to shoot a gun and/or fight intruders.”
I unfortunately can do none of those things (and neither can my 7 year old).
I’ve had bad experiences being home alone.
A few years ago my husband was working graveyard shifts, and I – to avoid being home alone – spent most of my time at my mother’s house.
One Friday, after spending most of the evening in my mother’s company, I decided to be a "big girl" and pack it up and go home…at midnight (my 1st mistake).
Thirty minutes later I walked through my front door (turning on every light – because for some irrational reason it makes me feel safer), and I noticed something strange… The outside door that leads to my backyard was wide open.
A million things beginning spinning round my mind.
- It’s midnight – how long has the door been open?
- Do I see anything visibly missing from the house?
- Why didn’t I invest in an alarm system?
- Is HE still here???
Nothing there.
(what I would have done if I’d actually found someone I’m not sure – but somehow I felt that I ought to at least look)
After my search (if you could call it that), I stood in my family room and eyeballed the stairs that lead down to my basement (all the while clutching my poor daughter, and pressing her tightly against my thighs).
It was ominous – there might as well have been a green glowing light coming from the crack under the door – it was that creepy.
I stood there for some minutes trying to convince myself that I was a grown woman and should be able to go down there, turn on the light, and have a look around….yeah right! Instead, I knelt right down in my living room and started to pray!
Pray for intruders that would miraculously disappear.
Pray for movie star heroes to show up and save the day.
Pray for a gun…. Aha! a gun.
My husband owns one of those! I could get one of his!
I rushed to the case where they are kept locked and stored…and realized I had no idea where he kept the key. Typical.
The next best thing was an old BB gun from my husband’s childhood. I went and retrieved it from my bedroom closet, held it in my hands, not knowing if there were any pellets in it (not even knowing how to figure out if there were pellets in it), and not believing that it would be any great protection to me – but somehow I felt better about having it.
My daughter and I got dressed in our pajamas and jumped into my bed, gun in tow. I couldn’t fall asleep. Not with a burglar in the basement.
As my daughter slept, I sat up in bed, holding the BB gun, and listened to every sound in the house – imagining that I heard footsteps on the soft carpet outside my bedroom door. I sat there devising a defense strategy, thinking about escape routes.
I was quickly losing my mind. I sat in that bed for about an hour an a half, imagining the most horrific of deaths, until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I picked up the phone and dialed 911.
I’d like to pause for a moment and answer the question that may be on your mind. Why hadn’t I called the police in the first place? Well, there are lots of reasons…Well, there’s actually only one – I was embarrassed.
I knew I was being silly. I know myself.
I knew that I was probably the one who left that door open , and it had remained that way the entire day.
I didn’t want to have the police come to my house at midnight on a Friday night for no reason. But at this point, I was having a mini heart attack, and the only way I was going to get any reassurance, was if SOMEONE went down into that basement and confirmed or denied that there was a burglar down there.
I explained to the 911 operator that I came home and found my backdoor open and, that I might have been burgled, and was concerned that the intruder was still there (I did neglect to mention that I’d been home for at least 2 to 2 1/2 hours at this point).
I sat on my doorstep with Morgan bundled up in blankets beside me, waiting from them to arrive. Two police officers (one pleasant – one surly) came right over.
I told them everything (including time line, the BB gun, and the earnest prayers to my Heavenly Father), and they looked at me wearily – but they had a job to do so… they fetched this huge German Shepard from their police cruiser, stood on my doorstep (guns drawn), and started yelling to the unknown suspect that they were sending the “dog in”, and if they didn’t want to be mauled then they ought to “give it up” (or something to that effect).
With no reply from inside, they unleashed the dog, and it proceeded to go through every room in my house, including the basement. The dog came back without even a piece of hide torn from a dangerous criminal. The officers looked at each other, and then at me (wearily), and entered the house. They too checked every room, entered the basement, and returned. They told me (wearily) that there was no one there, and that I ought to go to bed.
I recognize that I completely wasted their time, and that I’m a very silly woman – but I’ll tell you what – I had the best night sleep after that. There’s nothing better than being reassured that there are no monsters hiding under your bed, in your closets, and especially in your basement.
Oh by the way, my husband has decided that he won’t be going camping again this weekend. His friends flaked out on him. I’m grateful for flaky friends, they save taxpayer dollars.
0 comments:
Post a Comment