Danger Takes a Lifetime

Friday night was fun. I met up with several friends at Dirty Jacks and slowly the night turned into a pub crawl that included an a Capella group singing to Emily, a hilariously awkward run-in and the worst game of pool I’ve ever played. I left downtown earlier than I would normally; I haven’t been sleeping well for several months and knew I needed the rest. Jane was out of town so I’d have the house to myself for some necessary quiet.

I pulled into my driveway to see the lights on in the house. I was confused. I hadn’t left lights on. Through the kitchen window I could see the refrigerator door moving, meaning someone was getting something out of it. I was still confused. I walked up to our glass French doors and looked inside. The couch cushions were upturned; the drawers in the kitchen were wide open. I unlocked the door before what was really happening hit me. I dialed 911 and slowly backed out of the house. I had to tell the operator what I was wearing so they wouldn’t arrest me.

There is something so incredibly odd about being the victim of a crime; I’ve heard that it takes a long time for the reality of a situation to catch up with a victim’s thought process, simply because it is so far out of the realm of what their subconscious deems possible. Danger takes a lifetime to register. My realm of possibility didn’t include coming back to a man in my house or seeing cops with guns drawn running through my home while I stood in the driveway alone, not sure if I should be hiding. I wondered what I was supposed to do if I heard a shot. I was almost too confused to be scared.

The cops told me I was lucky the man wasn’t armed; they said I’d probably have been “in trouble” which I don’t want to fully address. Emily picked me up on a very different Friday night than the one we’d been living an hour earlier. I called her after the cops went through the house but before forensics showed up. I stayed at the barn. I had nightmares.

I’m doing better. I still have moments. I’ve developed a fear of the dark; I hope its temporary. The house is almost back together.