GET THE GUN, DEAR!

Fear is a great motivator. You never really know what you will do until you are actually in a frightening situation.  Imagine this, you are in a new city, it is late at night and your telephone will not be connected until the next afternoon.  You live on a busy one-way street and have yet to get used to the new traffic sounds around you. As busy as the front of the house is, the sides and back are eerily quiet and filled with many trees. It is the first night in your transitory home; boxes surround every corner of the old Victorian dwelling and the floor creaks without the pressure of human footsteps. Suddenly, the quaint home illustrating a cornucopia of nostalgic character with a substantial bay window, pocket doors, and a grand front porch transforms into The Nightmare on Center Street.  
 
It was approximately two a.m., and following an exhausting day of lugging boxes from the storage area to the new “old place,” the family was worn out and in a coma-like sleep. Everyone that is, except for me. My brain would not rest until the mental checklist for the next day’s “to do” list was complete. Did I know where the box with the children’s medical records was? Did I have everything necessary to get them enrolled in their new school? What ever happened to my blow dryer? Finally, yet most importantly on my mind... I sure am hungry! What is in the fridge?

As I thought of a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk, I heard a sound. It was not as familiar to me as the earlier evening creaks, cracks, traffic noises, and wind whistles. I sat up in bed and waited for further signs of possible intrusion. Once again, the sound emanated from the living room area. There was a distinct sound of a window opening.

Let us revisit this scene for a moment…old house, creaky wooden floor, and the windows are huge. A Heavy Victorian window layered in paint over the years was crackling under the pressure of one determined intruder. There was a definite struggle ensuing in the outer chamber. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, the saliva in my throat flowed frightfully, while jitters danced in the pit of my belly. I turned to tap my husband firmly whispering that someone was opening the window in the living room.

Well that did not go over too well. Imagine talking to a person in a near vegetative state. It is strictly a one-way conversation. He merely mumbled the words, “sure, dear, open the window if you’re hot.” Obviously, this was not going to work and time was running out. I jumped out of bed, and scrambled for the baseball bat we kept underneath it and headed out the bedroom door. I crept ever so quietly when suddenly I heard a voice that was so chilling my blood ran cold.

“Get the gun, dear!”  Those words shrieked from my lips before I realized I said them. I actually looked around the shadowy room to see who yelled them. It was I! At that precise moment, I heard the window let down a bit followed by the sounds of scrambling followed by thumping footsteps fading away into the moonlit night.

As I stood motionless still shocked over the scary intrusion, I sighed out a breath of relief. Subsequently, I leaned against the wall outside the master bedroom, and reminiscent of a cartoon character, I melted downward toward the floor into a puddle of shaking limbs and sweat.

Everything turned out satisfactorily that night… Thank God! Wild thoughts ran through my head about the terrible things that could have happened to my family. I realized the power of words on that pivotal night. Although I was tremendously frightened during that event, I somehow managed to blurt out those very scary, convincing words.

There was never another attempt to break into that house while we lived there. Furthermore, the lesson I learned that night in a city where the Bloods and Crips often cross paths was to always be prepared. Words worked magically then, and I would always be grateful to the guardian angel that whispered them into my ear just as I blurted them out from my lips. However, as time went on I realized that I would need the ability to protect my family on my own. I could not always depend on others to come to my family’s rescue in time. Moreover, my husband’s job required him to travel away from home for lengthy periods. Therefore, I needed to learn the safe handling of a firearm. Additionally, I would need to learn how to handle one better than those baggy pants’ gangs that roamed the area. 

  It was not so difficult my friends.