I am (I was?) a fifty-percent-full-free-spirit. My favorite place was running the greenways
in my neighborhood with my iPod playing my favorite music. It was my way of dancing through life at my
own beat. I married a fifty-percent-empty-planner. He gave me a secure life where I could remain
somewhat guileless and still giggle at his seriousness. He proudly keeps a dependable routine that I
marvel at. Routine breeds stability and
stability gives way to security. I felt
safe in my world with him laying the pavers down for my free-style steps. Living with him and his routines did teach me
a few tricks. Those tricks have proven
mostly effective in managing a home and child.
We have one child, a daughter who embodies the best of both
of us one hundred percent and I am fortunate to be able to stay home with her. She smiles excitedly while putting her toys
in distinct orders. Seeing the
perfection in your offspring is something that makes you a parent. You can't explain that, and many other
things, to people who haven't become parents.
And try as I might, I won't be able to fully explain what it's like to
be jeopardized in my own home, with my daughter in the other room, unless I'm
talking to someone who's experienced the same.
It was another Friday morning and I was again cleaning the
bathrooms. Every Friday is bathroom
day. Thanks to the influence of the
aforementioned planner, I am that person who sticks to a weekly cleaning
schedule: Monday--vacuum upstairs &
downstairs, Tuesday--iron (yes, I iron), Wednesday--"free" day (dust,
clean porch, makeup for prior day), Thursday--vacuum downstairs, Friday--bathrooms. And so, like I said, it was Friday. I'll never forget that detail, one of many
I'll never forget.
Despite the usualness of the morning, J's choice of play was
not. She had gotten on a roll with
viewing new shows on the tablet, navigating her way around Netflix, secretly
believing she was a genius to be finding TV programs she'd never known
existed. "I'm going to go clean the
potty's J." "OK" was all
she replied before she quickly closed her bedroom door to more fully absorb her
time with the gratifying tablet.
Visiting each bathroom, to empty the trash cans, I took the
back way into J's to give her more privacy and me a greater chance of
completing the days cleaning task faster, without interruptions. Outside I put the trash in the city appointed
bin and returned to the house. I quickly
decided to also take out some recycling in all my movements and therefore
mentally told myself I didn't need to lock the door. For me, allowing my mind to follow the brain
takes a lot of effort. I can't say
whether this took more energy of thought at the time, or it's just another
detail that has been magnified in my memory of the event but I didn't return
with the recycling and knew instantly when I saw him that I had not locked the
door behind me.
I was upstairs. J was
downstairs, still in her room, with the door closed, engrossed in Netflix, on
the tablet. My driveway extends from the
street to the back of the house where it meets the detached garage. He was halfway up my driveway when I saw him
from the window next to my desk. I had
taken a quick break in between bathrooms to open my email and see what others
were doing this ordinary morning on Facebook.
I was standing next to the window and gave me more of a view of the
driveway. He was deliberately walking up
it with the steady pace of a measured metronome. His body was held tight; only his legs seemed
to move. He was dressed appropriately
for the weather and his clothes were clean but his hair was dirty blond and matched
the khaki shades of his clothes making him loom, indistinct yet large. He had a backpack.
We live half a mile away from a university. There are plenty of houses with migrating
students on and around our block. We
have a small herb garden on the side of our driveway off the back deck. We planted catnip in it last year as a gift
to the number of neighborhood cats who we prefer over getting a pet
ourselves. Throughout the past season, a
certain grey cat had become especially fond of the herb and we hadn't gotten a
chance to get to know him yet as he scampered away every time we tried to
introduce ourselves. Maybe the catnip
made him paranoid.
At first my forgiving, half-full, open curiosity asked, Was
he a student who recognized his cat sniffing at the catnip?
Then the Mama Lion instinct kicked-in.
I DIDN'T LOCK THE BACK DOOR!
J IS DOWNSTAIRS!
I'M WEARING NOTHING BUT YOGA PANTS AND A SPORTS BRA!
In the space of one second, those thoughts raced past my
mind and only then did I move, grab a pullover and run down the stairs. I was too late. He was a couple steps in the house. He had zero expression. The tempo of his steps had not changed.
I'm originally from New Jersey. We don't generally hold back. As soon as he was in my sight which was when
I saw him through the window in the wall that separated him in the back room
and me in the next room, I busted out, "EXCUSE ME??!!"
His expression did not change from nothing. His walking did not pause as he continued
towards me. I was still in
"running" mode when I hopped over Teddy and we crossed paths in
between J's bedroom and her security bear.
I saw her door was closed therefore she was continuing to enjoy the small
pleasures of mice ballerinas and soft talking little bears. She was comfortable sitting crossed legged on
her soft bed surrounded by her princess treasures. I was about to face a threat that had the
potential to destroy the world we as parents want our children to remain in as
long as possible.
He swung at me. I
ducked and screamed, screamed and ducked, right outside J's bedroom. While I did not feel the sting of a punch, I
will always feel the swipe of his hand and jacket sleeve. I was crouching. I didn't have a plan beyond, "EXCUSE
ME??!!" I thought this was the end
of something beautiful. The end of my
daughter's exuberant world with a mama who loved to color alongside her, no matter
what the picture. The end of my ability
to walk, function as before, enjoy relations with my husband, or watch my
daughter grow up and be isolated in the her room by teenage angst, not by mice
ballerinas and soft talking little bears.
I hadn't finished teaching her everything I had learned about life and
love. I was crouched and frozen in
time. Suspended with flashes of doomsday
scenarios. I tried myself in front of a
jury of me, myself, and I. They found me
guilty of failure, uselessness, stupidity, and naivety. Forgetting to buckle her into her car seat
that one time (or three times) was nothing compared to this screw up. And then, he was walking away.
With the same pace, the same metrical tempo, he had turned
around and walked out the same way he walked in. "I'm getting the fuck out of
here." are the only words I heard
him say. I hopped back over Teddy and got
to my phone just as he passed the bay window facing the driveway. It was stunning to see he *really* was
walking back down the driveway.
I dialed 911. He was
turning right out of my driveway, heading East.
I clearly said this to the 911 operator.
A saw a woman go past my driveway walking in the same direction, maybe
10 steps behind this person who just attacked me in my own home. I told this to the operator. He didn't find that as concerning as I
did. I ran out my front door. The woman was just about to be beyond my
voice. I yelled to her, not concerned
that I was also yelling into the mouth piece that held a direct line to the
operator--the one person I was now dependant on to return my safety and
security. He was asking me questions.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Do you need an ambulance?"
"No. Didn't you hear me? There's a woman right behind him!"
"Police are in the neighborhood ma'am."
A police car went down the street in the right direction. "I just saw a police car. He's going the right way."
A police car went up the street in the wrong direction. "I just saw another police car. He's going the wrong way." The police car quickly turned around. "He's going the right way now."
"They have a suspect.
Are you OK, ma'am?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to stay on the line with you?"
The endorphins seemed to stop pumping, and a different
emotion came over me. The shock left me,
and I was overwhelmed with fright and terror.
The tears were an avalanche and the shakes came out of nowhere.
"No, I want to call my husband."
"Excuse me ma'am."
My words were not as clear as they had been a second
before.
"I want to call my husband." I want to put my world back together.
"OK, I
understand. The police have apprehended
a suspect. One of them will be at your
house shortly."
"Thank you."
Click.
He may have responded, I didn't wait to hear. I dialed my husband's office. The receptionist answered. I didn't let her finish her cordial introduction. Through gasps and sniffs and uncontrolled
pitch breaks she heard me say, "V, this is J, I need to speak to..."
and immediately transferred me. He heard
my voice and he didn't stop to be thoughtful of the situation. He critically judged my nondescript babblings
and had 2 questions and 1
statement.
"Is J alright?"
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"I'm coming home."
I had to calm down and check on J. For her, who gives me amazing strength, I
made the tears stop in their tracks. I
wiped the evidence of the others off my face.
Slowly and precisely, I opened the door and mechanically stretched a
small smile across my face. There she
was, untouched and unspoiled. The
"good" news came first. I told
her Papa was coming home for lunch today and she could keep watching the tablet
as long as she liked. She looked at me
slightly sideways and asked why I had screamed.
My stomach tightened. I told her
I thought I saw a really big bug. Then I
very purposely closed the door to her room, where she was still safe and forced
myself to exhale.
Teddy head was turned "looking" at me from the
floor where J had left him that morning.
I looked at Teddy. Had he seen
Teddy just as clearly as I am now seeing him?
I had navigated around him at least 3 different times and only now
noticed him. Did J's security bear, all
innocent white and fluffy with the loved-in floppy head trigger the guy to turn
and leave this home of my family? Even
as J's dependence on him lessens a smidge every day, my adoration of him grows. I believe in the end I will miss him more
than she does. I will certainly always
remember him with this day.
For the following week, the mostly innocent question, "How
are you doing?" got me choked up.
Most neighbors and friends who had heard didn't know what to say or
do. The pragmatic mid western neighbor
directly asked through email, "Was that you?" Others looked at me with a mix of caution (if
I ask, that makes it more real and the reality is it could happen to me) and
brimming curiosity (how do I ask with concern and not sound gossipy?) while
others decided it was best not to come to my door unannounced. Some made excuses to talk to me, hoping to
get more bits of the story. Maybe their
intentions were good but my new skepticism told me they were hoping to be the
ones who could spread the news of the details gotten straight from the source.
Family members who for years have wallowed in their
self-pity with talk therapy and prescriptions suggested I do the same. After my panic attack at the sentencing
hearing, one said, "It sounds like you may be experiencing PTSD and should
consider Xanax or Ativan as well a good therapist."
The truth is I want to feel it. I want to feel every inch of the terror. When something good and magical happens, we
always remember the loveliness of the experience. The good and magical moments make us into the
evolved people we are. So too do the
terrifying moments. Pushing them away
will not help me understand why I'm more cautious then you. Or why I'm a little jumpy with sudden
movements in others and why that man walking into the pizza joint makes me wide
eyed for a split second with his resemblance to 'him'. Even my husband will never understand how the
deadpan look of the dude who walked into the bar demonstrating little
absorption of his surroundings keeps me mesmerized until he chooses to leave. My husband can't secure everything for me as
before.
My new reality is a more aware, vigilant and active
reality. I watch every person in my
surroundings and absolutely profile them as quickly as possible. I do not run with headphones. I look up and around while running; not down
at the path. I'm more comfortable on the
public busy streets over the quiet greenways now. I cannot be lost in my own world anymore. The free spirited side of me has been quieted
because one day, J is going to be holed up in her room with teenage angst and I
want to be here to witness it. I've seen
the other half of the glass and it's not as shiny and clean as I once wanted to
believe.
