This is how I spent my Sunday evening (actually, it was early Monday morning). But just to liven things up a bit, I'm going to tell the story in reverse. Let's kick it Memento-style!
July 23, 2007 2:00 AM
I headed back to my house as the cop banged on my neighbor's front door. You did everything you were supposed to do, I reassured myself. It's in the cop's hands now. I walked inside, grabbed a drink, and turned on the television. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep without the knowledge that my neighbors were aware of the situation, so I went back out on the front porch. My neighbor and the cop were standing at the crime scene. Good. I can go to bed now.
July 23, 2007 1:45 AM
"It's about time they showed up," the tall firefighter told me as the police car came down our street. The firefighters walked over to the patrol car. I stood there, shuffling my feet, readying myself to tell my story for the fourth time that evening. The short fireman pointed at me. The cop started walking in my direction.
"You're the witness?" he asked.
"I'm the one who called the police. I saw a dark pickup truck. Other than that, I'm not much of a witness," I said nervously, probably acting like I was the one responsible for what had happened. I don't do well around police. Or any authority figure, for that matter.
I gave the cop my story along with my name, address, date of birth, and telephone number. I explained to him why I had taken so long to contact the police. I was beginning to think I was going to have to go down to the station to fill out an official report. But instead the cop said, "Ok. That's all I need. You can go home now."
"Are you going to wake them up? Because I'm worried they'll come out--"
"Yes. I'll wake them up and let them know what happened," the cop said.
July 23, 2007 1:00 AM
"They're not going have their sirens on, are they?" I asked. "It's pretty late and I think the whole neighborhood is asleep."
"Sir, they will follow whatever procedures are necessary in a situation like this," the police dispatcher told me. "Now I need to ask you some questions."
"Okay."
"Are you in any immediate danger?"
"No."
"Is anyone around you in any immediate danger?"
"No."
"Someone will be there shortly. Goodbye."
I hung up the phone and started cursing. "Damn it!" I screamed to Ella. "Why did I let you talk me into calling the police? What if they come down the street with their sirens a-blaring and it turns out to be nothing? What if I don't know what the hell I'm talking about!"
She said nothing.
"I'm going to bed. You deal with this." I said.
"Nuh-uh. You saw it. You deal with it. I'm going to bed."
A few minutes later, I heard the fire truck coming down our street. "Good," I said. "At least they don't have their sirens on."
I walked outside and met the firemen in front of my neighbor's home. They examined the scene, asked me what had happened, and wrote down my name, address, and phone number. "Is this what I think it is?" I asked, nervously.
"Yes," the short firefighter replied.
"What happens now?"
"We call the police. This isn't our problem," he replied.
"Are you going to wake them up? Are you going to tell them about it?" I asked, pointing at my neighbor's home.
"No. This is isn't our problem," he reiterated.
July 23, 2007 12:30 AM
"You really need to call the police," Ella told me. I ignored her; I was busy at the computer.
"Jackson?" I asked.
"Maybe," Ella replied. "But that doesn't sound right. I don't know."
"You know, one of us really needs to start paying attention when people introduce themselves to us," I said.
"I know," she replied.
After a few moments of silence, I asked, "Simpson?"
"No. Definitely not Simpson," Ella stated (Turns out I was right. Their last name is Simpson).
"You really need to call the police," Ella said once again.
"Just give me a few more minutes," I begged. I really didn't want to call the police. What if I was wrong?
But I had a plan. Our neighbors had just moved into the house a week ago. We knew their first names but not their last names. We knew the neighborhood where they used to live, but not the street. So I used my laptop to go through their old neighborhood, street by street, scouring the names of the people who lived on the streets. I was hoping to find a match with their first names and, ultimately, a phone number so I could just call them on the phone.
I always wanted to be a detective.
"You really need to call the police," Ella said firmly.
"FINE!"
July 22, 2007 12:15 AM
"Honey? Honey, wake up!"
No response.
"Honey! Wake up!" I try again.
"What do you want?" Ella said, sleepily.
"A bomb just went off in our neighbor's front yard!"
"WHAT!" Ella screamed as she sat up in bed.
"I think a bomb went off in our neighbor's mailbox."
"A bomb? A real bomb?"
"A homemade bomb. There's a huge jug in the street. There's foam inside the mailbox and some black residue inside the mailbox. It's on the ground, too."
"You went down there? What were you thinking?"
"I don't know. I heard a loud BOOM! and I thought it was a car backfiring, so I went outside. I saw a dark truck down by our neighbor's mailbox. There was lots of smoke. Tons of smoke. The truck sped away. I really thought it was a backfire. But the smoke didn't go away, so I walked down there to check things out."
Ella quickly threw on a shirt and sweats and we went outside. She stood on the porch as I started walking toward the smoke.
"Don't go down there!" she screamed.
"I've already been down there once. The bomb's already gone off. There's nothing to worry about."
"Don't!" she yelled as I continued to walk toward the smoke. I coaxed her down off the porch but she wouldn't go anywhere near our neighbor's yard.
"I can't believe no one else heard this," I said as I walked back into our yard. "What should we do? I don't want them to come out tomorrow morning and touch their mailbox. What if they get burned or something?"
"You really need to call the police," Ella said.
Song Of The Day
Marla from …For A Different Kind Of Girl is back for her second day as Guest DJ (btw, if anyone else would like to DJ for a week sometime down the road, drop me a line). Take it away, Marla!I grew up in a small town with two radio stations and no cable television. Madness! I remember actually being excited the first time I heard Air Supply's Lost in Love on the radio. It was as if I was just discovering music for the first time! Then I shook the insanity out of my brain, turned the dial to the other radio station and waited. Eventually, I was rewarded with Duran Duran. As was the case with many of the bands I grew up enjoying, Simon LeBon became my pretend husband. John Taylor was my dalliance. We got along delightfully. A few years later, Nick Rhodes married a woman about 15 miles from where I lived, and I thought two things: "Wow! Nick Rhodes isn't gay or else this is some of the most clever marketing I've ever seen!" and "Well, there's obviously hope for me! Simon's bound to make a wrong turn on the way to the wedding and spot me browsing BOP magazine pinups of him when he stops at the convenience store and asks for directions. We'll live happily ever after!"
Interesting how that didn't seem to work out. Alas, I love him still. I own all the albums as a symbol of my love and fidelity to Simon LeBon.
I would, however, still consider a dalliance with John Taylor.
Song of the day: Careless Memories by Duran Duran
