Thursday, April 23, 2009

Shortly after the girls and I moved in with Big V, the Jellybean experienced an intruder trying to break in to the house. She was home alone while the rest of us drove to the bank on this random, beautiful, sunshiney, couldn't-be-more-perfect afternoon. She's 13 and sulky and wasn't about to go anywhere with her hair looking like THAT! And so she stayed home alone.

Dotter and I were waiting patiently in the parking lot singing along to Hannah Montana for the umpteenth time while the all-important deposit transaction was happening inside. Who knew that in the next second I'd feel extreme helplessness and panic, something I never want to experience again.

On the other end of my cell phone, in a hushed but screaming voice was Bean... "they're trying to get in the house! oh my god! oh my god! MOM! they're opening the window - they're trying to open the WINDOW!"

What the hell was she saying? I couldn't focus. I couldn't hear. I couldn't see. I couldn't comprehend.

In a strong, assured voice I told her to calm down. I asked where she was - in her bedroom. The doorbell had rang. She had peeked out the side window and saw two men she didn't know. She didn't go to the door. She thought they would go away. But they didn't. They went through the garage and tried the door from the garage to the house. They went to the other door and tried that. When that didn't work they went about trying to open a window.

I told her to go down the hall to our bedroom and lock the door. From there she was to crawl under the bed and stay there. And not make a sound. But the whole time she's completely freaked out - "oh my god! HELP ME! HELP ME! i can hear them - THEY'RE AT THE WINDOW - THEY'RE OPENING THE WINDOW! oh my god! oh my GOD!"

and she hangs up.

Big V was walking back to the car at that point and I screamed at him to hurry. I tried calling the Bean back - no answer. And this is where my guilt and regret lie: I never called 911. I never contacted the police. I never told my sweet, precious Jellybean to call 911. I couldn't help her where I was, and I didn't make sure she was safe.

What I didn't know was that the Bean had called Big V's sister, who lives just a few streets away. Within seconds she had thrown three kids and her pregnant body into the car with her husband and was traveling as fast as their car could possibly go, staying on the phone the entire time.

As soon as they pulled into the driveway they new the situation:

Big V's idiot (and more than likely drunken) friends had been out for a motorcycle ride, enjoying the pleasant weather. Deciding to stop by Big V's house they found no response to their incessant bell ringing and door pounding, however, they were quickwitted enough to see Big V's truck sitting in place, so surely he was home. How funny would it be if they could get in and then scare him if he was in the shower or sleeping.

Big V's sister read them the riot act. Mama Bear describes her to a tee and she was not about to let these two losers off the hook until they realized the emotional damage they inflicted on this little girl.

That was a year ago. To date neither one of those two guys has bothered to apologize to me and that makes me angry. Big V has chosen to distance himself from them (this was actually just the tip in the so-called socially inept iceburg they hailed from) and I have never spoken to either of them directly. So imagine my surprise when today I signed onto Facebook and saw a friend request from one of them. Is he truly that stupid?

1 comment:

rachael said...

Oh. My. God. What a jackass.