“How’s she goin'” is a popular phrase from my hometown. I also figured it would be nice to update my dusty old blog, which I think about a lot but have lost most of the desire to contribute to. I often think I should have never deleted my old blog, but it was getting ridiculous in terms of unwanted comments and e-mails. Which is really too bad, because it was a lot cheaper than therapy and much more effective for me.
I think I have also kept away to avoid the temptation of writing about The October 2012 Incident – not because it’s not always on my mind, but because I don’t want to fall in the Just Shut Up About It Already trap. Life goes on for me and for you, and there are so many other good topics to write about.
I’ve been writing a lot though…I write letters to The Criminal that I never send. I am on the third draft of my latest manuscript. I am also a documentation whizkid at work. And if I took all of the posts I wrote on Facebook, I would have a tome of Biblical proportions.
I will update you (if anyone out there still cares to read this) on current events and things now.
First…to get it out of the way…The Criminal is still hanging out in Park County Detention Center, WY. He has plead not guilty to everything, which makes me want to hit him really hard in the face with a cast iron pan since he a) confessed and b) apologized. I have to take it for what it is, some dickhead criminal defense tactic that must be an attempt to get his sentence reduced. However, I am confident that the bad-ass state of Wyoming, which I believe to be even more bad-ass than Montana at times, will crucify him for the sociopath rapist that he is. Harsh? Yes. And if any ex in-laws or current girlfriends read this, please do not send me an e-mail asking me to change that sentence. I already understand that my children will read this someday. I never badmouth their father in front of them, no matter how tempting or justifiable it is. I know that one day they will find out the gory details and make their own decision and it will not matter one ounce what I have said or thought. I have not one ounce of sympathy for The Criminal, especially since he is now actively exploiting “his past” as well as the wallets of the gullible to make his life in the clink just a wee bit more cozy. I will never, ever feel sorry for him due to his choices and actions.
I had a rough Christmas holiday. All I will say about it, is that in the end, a helpful (but seriously creepy) shrink told me that the kids are probably better off without him in their life…and although it might be obvious to most of you, his words clicked and I realized that yes, duh, of course they will be better off without him. Without someone capable of doing THAT. Having me, and my family, and my friends in their life is more than enough…having HIM in their young lives could only be a detriment. The light bulb turned on, and I have not looked back. Enough about The Criminal…but in the future I will be certain to share any stories of his sad life in the pokey…remind me to tell you about the Canned Tuna dilemma.
- I got my children a puppy. Sparta is a baby German Shepherd. Did I mention that I am a cat person? However, I do enjoy the dog and she is already looking to be an excellent protector, and a very fast learner. I call her my Magic Dog. Only 11 weeks, but my mean, mean, mean training voice has this puppy housebroken, sitting, staying, shaking hands, fetching, and laying down. It has to be this way…as I cannot tolerate untrained dogs a bit. Breaking out the Marine voice has been very useful in getting this puppy to STOP JUMPING ON ME. The kids love their dog, and I am happy that I could check this item off the Good Childhood box for them. Even as I pick up the accompanying yard bombs in below zero weather. When puppy is a dog, she will be great at keeping the Wild Animals away.
- Living out in the sticks is wonderful. I was a little worried about bringing the kids out here, so “far” from the “city”. But it’s been really good. I thought I would miss the copious space I gave up, I thought I would miss the dishwasher. The water has frozen up a couple times this winter. I look forward to building my next house by hand the way my dad did. I won’t be able to hoist the logs myself, but I have assembled a plan to build myself a house here without going into a cent of debt. The bonus is really for my kids…they will get to see how to work for what they want, and help out where they can. If I pass anything on to my kids, I want it to be self-reliance and the ability to figure things out. And how to use what you already have, instead of accumulating useless piles. I imagine this won’t be a lesson they can learn until we outgrow the Toy Phase.
- The house plan involves a lot of recycling, a couple of years, and a lot of hard work. My shanty (I love my shanty) is great, but I can’t share a room with my daughter forever. Her idea of cuddling at night is laying on top of my back, and I end up settling for the couch a lot. The house I plan to assemble is simple, with large rooms, lots of storage, but everything I need. Everything I need includes a LOT of built in bookshelves. And a rock fireplace…Lord knows we have plenty of free river rock here…free except for the labor of course.
- About those Wild Animals. Macy is terrified of Wild Animals at night. She now has a bow and arrow (which she refers to as her bowarrow) made by Grampa to shoot them with. So far we haven’t shot anything (might be difficult with rubber tipped arrows). There are quite a lot of creatures out here…to name everything we have had on the property would be hard…but the list includes wolves, coyotes, a bear, moose, deer, foxes, badgers-who-don’t-give-a-shit, skunks, weasels. Mice, moles, and rabbits are legion. We have bald eagles daily, and some frisky goldens. One day my dad happened upon a golden IN THE CHICKEN COOP. Wild America, right here. I enjoy the smaller things…the colorful birds, the wild looking caterpillars (and moths and butterflies), and the dragonflies.’
- It’s not all roses (Ha!). Kids have been sick a lot this winter (along with everyone else). My car is a steaming pile of crap but the more awful it gets, the more resolute I am to drive it until it’s got Flintstone wheels and no glass. I have never loved a car so much. It goes from zero to sixty in approximately five minutes. I broke my elbow about a month ago…it’s moveable but I get horrible twinges if it bends just right. I have officially lost count of injuries. All of my injuries are really stupid. It’s like a demented collection of scars and bones. Strange, for one who is terrified of horror movies. My microwave is broken. I secretly hope it dies soon, as I want to experiment with life without a microwave. I dream about the counter space.
I can’t move my neck to the left today…Macy slept on it last night. Both kids have developed a need to climb into my bed at least three times a week.
I don’t let them exploit “but I don’t have a dad!” for anything except extra love, so I let it slide. It won’t last forever. Nothing does, does it?
The letters from my children’s father are starting to come now every other day. I am a mess after each one. The light in my son’s eyes when he gets a letter from his dad is bright and hopeful. How can I ever tell him his dad is never coming home?
I spend incredible amounts of energy plastering a smile on my face, encouraging both of my kids to write back and draw some pictures (photos aren’t allowed). Then I take each letter after they have read it and place it in a box. One day this box will be all they have of their once-great father. Then my heart breaks for them again and again and again.
I know that children are strong, and that we will all be okay. But I would have followed my own father to the ends of the earth as a child and there is a hole in my heart knowing that my kids will miss out on that. Instead of undying love, there will be questions. Missing pieces. Wondering why they drew this bad hand.
The pressure I feel right now is out of control. Some of it’s downright ridiculous. I fight depression on a regular basis anyway; now my overactive imagination is ripe with all of the What Ifs.
What if I get cancer and die?
What if I get in a car accident and die?
What if my back finally gives out for good and I’m sent to live in a chair?
What good will I be to my kids if I am gone?
The pressure to not ever be allowed to even die until your kids have successfully reached adulthood is something I never worried about. Though we were divorced, I knew that if something happened to me, the kids would be fine. He’d marry his girlfriend, the kids would miss me but they’d have photos and memories and my writings.
Then he did what he did.
An awful, awful, awful thing.
And he is rightly locked up, probably forever…we don’t know yet. If he is really lucky, when he gets out of prison my children will be older than I am now. And they will not know their father. They might even hate him. I hope this is not the case. But how could it not be?
How can I be a good enough mother to make up for this hole in their lives? I’m so afraid and alone in ways I never thought I would be. I can’t die. I can’t get hurt. I have to be positive, OH SO POSITIVE. I have to make sure they do their homework. I have to make sure they learn right from wrong. I have to keep them safe from future internet trolls who find out the truth about their father.
I’m not ready for this. I try every day, but every day ends in tears of what the hell do I do?
My blog is getting thousands of hits now so I thought I better come make a statement.
- I am brokenhearted for the girl in Cody Wyoming and I am so, so, thankful that it’s hunting season and that she was found safely. May you get the help and support that you need. I am so devastated and sorry that this has happened to you. You did not deserve it, and I am so proud of you for being a fighter, fighting him off and surviving. You are amazing. You may have saved many more lives. Take this strength that you find and turn it into an inner peace or power and not hatred. He is not worth it.
- May your parents also find strength through your amazing soul.
- I am not married to The Criminal any longer. I was with him between 2003-2009. I have full custody of our kids.
-There are OLD websites out there where The Criminal and I have collaborated, along with others. Please do not drag other people’s names into this on pure speculation.
- I did help Wasband edit his new Autumn book. We were cordial to each other until a few months ago when he just stopped talking to me.
- The FBI is talking to all of us and doing their job. PLEASE LET THEM. I don’t want anything to screw up this case.
- People are finding photos of my from Twitter and other sites before I could take them down, and re-posting them other places. Fine, do what you feel you gotta do, but I wish you would knock it off.
- My main job now is to protect my children and keep them from hearing about the alleged crimes before they are ready. They are both great kids and love their dad very much. They do not know where he is now and it is very scary for them. I have to find out how this is done. It’s a nightmare to wake up with your life changed like this. I have talked with his family, his girlfriend, and some mutual friends. We are all in shock, hoping they have the wrong person but afraid that they do not. Our pain does not compare to the victim’s pain, but it is there nonetheless and it’s miserable. If he has done this, he has hurt an awful lot of people.
I cannot answer the thousands of questions out there that I know some of you have. Above all I am sorry to be connected to someone who may have done this.
I do ask for privacy for my kids and my family.
My time on this earth is almost over, and I am fortunate to have lived long enough to write you this letter. You see, your world is a wonderful one – the future has never looked so promising. I see hope sparkle in your parents’ eyes; wonder and enchantment in your own. The world you live in and the country you were born in…why, this place is a shining battery of light and gratefulness. But it wasn’t always this way.
You’re surprised? It’s true. In fact, there was a time in my own life when my family, friends and I weren’t sure how much longer things could continue on their destructive paths. There were wars. Summers were unbearable hot. Winters were dry. Food stopped growing, and water stopped being a thing just a silver faucet away. Too many people to count got sick and died. Many of us thought humankind was on the brink of an unrecoverable disaster. People lost hope, and when you lose hope, you lose everything. So I will tell you about some of the ways life got better. It took time, certainly. But things, life, got better.
I’m not writing this to depress you, or make you feel sorry for my time here. In fact, I consider myself one of the lucky ones who held out to see humankind patch itself back up. There were so many hard times- so many wars, so many fights, so much corruption. Poverty. Sadness. Children dying all over the world. But we stuck it out anyway. And I am writing this down so you (and your children) don’t forget.
- In the earlier part of this century (I don’t recall the year), people started to realize just how destructive consumerism was. It stopped being “cool” (sorry for the old slang) to buy a new car every couple of years. People started hanging on to the things they purchased, everything from tools to dishes to clothing. No one thought it would last. But it did! The only thing that sold were products of quality, so that is what all of the manufacturing companies started to make.
That’s why when you go to the store today and buy an electric drill, you never have to buy a new one. Sure, maybe you have to take it in to get it fixed now and then, but that’s easy because you can take it over to your town’s hardware store. And to think we almost made the hardware store extinct! Can you believe we were so stupid as to throw things away, month after month? It was half a century before the ocean was cleaned up, but better late than never.
- My own parents and grandparents didn’t have the option to go to the doctor when they were sick. It was just too expensive, and doctors had their hands tied much of the time. It took a great many deaths before the collective country got fed up with the system. Drug companies used to spend a lot of money to put big, fancy ads in the papers and on TV, but we outlawed that. So drug companies stopped focusing on fixing boners and dry eyes, and instead they had to go fix the increasing problems of cancers and disease, because that was now where the money was. Once we got rid of the ads, it wasn’t long before they cured cancer, malaria, and wiped a handful of nasty ails right off the planet. The research team who finally unlocked the universal cancer cure enjoyed fame and fortune, and it was well deserved since they had devoted their life to the job.
-Speaking of fame and fortune, can you believe we used to fall and fawn over TV and music performers? It’s almost embarrassing to talk about, but it’s true. My friends and I could easily spend a hundred – a hundred dollars – to go to a concert. Musical talent was no longer discovered but produced. Can you believe it? If a young person had the right “look” they could alter their voice and create an overnight “star”. It was an awful time for music. And eventually, people’s interests changed.
Record company executives did everything they could to mass-produce musical groups, but it was of no use. People who were naturally talented at music and entertainment found new fans on the internet. And some savvy manager-type folks who didn’t demand the billions of dollars the old record execs demanded, they managed to start a new paradigm of entertainment. So if you weren’t talented, then nobody watched you. You’d have to go find a different career. Period. That’s why your music today is so amazing. I’m not kidding, this really happened!
-For a while, it was “cool” for girls to be dumb…even when this old grandma was in high school! And we girls caught on and realized we were getting a raw deal, so we stepped it up. And then it became “cool” for the boys to be dumb…as long as they dressed snappy and had a wad of cash in their pocket. But that went out of style too. You see, “dumb” is boring. Once the money is gone and you’ve outgrown the hairstyle, it really matters whether or not a fellow human can carry a conversation. Girls got bored with the “dumb” guys and that was the end of that. It was then fashionable to educate yourself. And not only a traditional education came back as a trend…something different was all the rage. It was a little something your ancestors called common sense.
We had a saying that ‘common sense isn’t very common’…and let me tell you it wasn’t. Now listen up, grandchildren. This might be the most important lesson I pass on to you. Common sense is vital. It’s what tells you that you car isn’t going to run forever, so you better check the oil (I know you kids don’t use oil anymore, but you know…check your filters and your belts just the same). It’s what tells you that your water bill is due at the end of the month, so it’s probably not a good idea to spend that money on a nice vacation. It’s what tells you to be suspicious if that “nice man in your restaurant” is inviting you on a nice island vacation and you’ve never met him before.
The return of common sense…that is what signaled the end of the old dark days and the return of true freedom and independence. Hard work and intelligence became valued again. We found ways to bring jobs back from China to our own country, once those folks wised up and demanded the same salaries and benefits we had in this country to start with. Liars and cheaters never prospered….especially if they were in leadership positions. Teachers, policemen, firemen, and small farmers were paid what they deserved. Oh, I know you know these things were all true today…but they weren’t for a long time. In fact, teachers of children were paid a paltry wage, but baseball players demanded millions upon millions and still were unhappy about it. Thank goodness we lost interest in sports…until the players went back to doing it for the game. Lord knows that helped the parents in the little league stands to back the hell off.
-We reached an energy crisis about halfway through the century. It was a nightmare. Finally it was decided that every evening for two hours, just before the sun went down, all of the electricity in the country was just shut off. No one, young or old, single or corporate, had electricity of any kind for two whole hours. People panicked, and protested, and tried to sue for infringement of rights. But the order passed, and one fine June evening a long time ago, the lights went out with a whirrrrr.
A funny thing happened then. People had to start depending on their neighbors again. We got really good at preparing for the evening shutdown, but sometimes we would forget the meat or the mashed potatoes, so little by little we asked each other for help. We slowed down…we hadn’t even realized just how alone we had become. Pretty soon we were playing cards with other families or sipping ice water in the common areas of the neighborhood. Kids would play in the field, kicking a ball around like it was the 1950s (look up the 1950s sometimes, that is when my own Mom was a girl). And we liked the sense of community so darn much that when they turned the power back on for good, we chose to go outside and visit anyway.
Kids, I could go on and on. I don’t want this to become “tl;dr” like we used to say. But you need to hear these stories. They might seem like insignificant events to you now…and taken one by one, they are. But add them up over time, and society starts to wither and crumble. A man once said “Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.” May all of our mistakes never happen to you, or your children, or your children’s children’s children.
I’ve had an amazing life, so don’t be sad when I am gone.
The summers of my youth were spent outdoors…as kids, we’d much prefer to be outside in the world’s biggest playroom, rather than cooped up in our small bedrooms upstairs that were hotter than an oven during July anyway. We were outside so much that in the evenings when we returned home, we were placed directly in the bathtub, our skin so dark that it was hard to say whether the dirt was ever fully removed or not. When I think of the word freedom I think of those days…evenings when the air started to cool but the sun was still resting on top of the mountain, the skies behind us turning red and orange and purple, a breeze blowing our hair back. Carli and I especially, we would lay in the grass and look at the clouds. We put crayons in the street and hit behind bushes, waiting for a car to smoooooosh them down so we could collect the tiny pieces in order to make one HUGE crayon (we weren’t allowed to play with matches so we used the next safest alternative – moving vehicles). We invented our own languages and worlds.
But every now and then, some unforeseeable wrench was thrown in our outdoor plans — Carli had to go visit her father. Someone got the chicken pox. It was just too stinking hot. There were clouds of mosquitoes out. These were the times when my brother and I begged our mother “Can we please, please, please, rent videos?
If my mother had $9.99 to spare, we would climb in the car (sans seatbelts of course) and drive several blocks to the newly-opened Blockbuster store. This store was a magical, blue and yellow provider of fun and excitement. There were hundreds and hundreds of videos lining the shelves. Of course we could never possibly watch them all, so we would choose very carefully. The $9.99 price allowed us to choose three videos. My brother and I got to pick one, and my mom and dad got to pick the other two. We chose movies to rent solely by the covers, as we knew nothing of the preview in those ancient days of the early 80s. We, as children, did not suffer a constant barrage of media, insisting that we rent this or buy that. Sometimes we heard about movies by word of mouth, usually through friends who had older brothers and sisters (this is how we found out about Ghostbusters), but most of the time we had to place three or four videos next to each other and vote on which one looked to be the most exciting.
Yes, we called them videos. This is because we had to play them in a video cassette recorder…the VCR.
Since no one actually owned a VCR (we heard that a doctor who lived up on the hill owned a VCR, but he didn’t have any kids so there was no way of knowing if this was true or not) we had to rent one. VCR rental was included in the $9.99 three movie deal. My mom would hand over a ten dollar bill to the Blockbuster cashier, sometimes muttering something about highway robbery under her breath, and we would pile back into the car and drive home.
If Dad was home, he would hook up the VCR to the TV. If he wasn’t, we would wait for him to get home from work to hook up the VCR. He removed the robotic-looking machine from it’s padded case and begin fiddling with wires and cables. It looked very complicated, which was why Dad had to do it. Mom would make the popcorn. My brother and I would get in everybody’s way. I don’t remember that part, but now that I have kids I am 100% certain that is what we did while we waited.
Finally it was movie night. Rejoice!
The only movie that we rented that I actually remember was Adventures in Babysitting. I remember because the lady at Blockbuster said it was very funny and good for kids. But the word boobs was said in the first ten minutes of the movie, and then we got in trouble for picking it out. Sigh. Kids those days. Luckily, the lady at Blockbuster was blamed, and our dad allowed us to finish the movie.
Today I have 250 channels and HBO (for True Blood) and there is never anything on.
The kids and I play outside a lot now that it’s summer, though. When they are a little older, I will let them outside to ride their bikes with friends. I’m afraid I am not going to be brave enough in this world to let them out alone…not until they are much older. I hope that even though they will have more supervision than I did, and though they will always have instant gratification with entertainment, never having to wait for Dad to set up the VCR…I hope that they will look back on their childhoods someday and remember the joys of a warm summer afternoon.
It’s been so long since I have been here that my browser didn’t remember the URL, so poor me, I had to type the whole thing in.
Is anyone still listening?
I haven’t been here simply because I have been adhering to the Golden Rule. The one about not saying anything, if you don’t have anything nice to say. (We watch Bambi a lot here)
SO MUCH has happened over the past few months. Too much for me to process at once, so most of my evenings of late have been spent laying lifelessly on my couch, staring at the ceiling, worrying about all my white people problems. The days are longer now, and I have been introduced to B vitamins. Right now if I smiled, you would see a row of B vitamins instead of teeth. Couple the vitamins with the sun, I am remembering what it was like to be giddy.
Here are some Big and Little (bigenlittle) Events starting about March 1 until now.
- Company acquired by (M)assive corporation. People freak out. People stop freaking out (most of them, anyway) when it is realized that all the soda pop is now free
- Roommate undergoes (M)assive midlife changes, decides to move to small mountain town to begin a bakery service. Give me and the kids the boot
- Find new place to live. Move. AGAIN. (M)assive rental fees occur.
- (M)assive immediate family disputes emerge, raring their ugly teeth and log-sized biceps. These disputes are for the most part, over *shudder*.
- Son finally learns to tie his shoes. Oh, the resistance! He can memorize pages and pages of poetry and recite it back, but couldn’t figure out the shoe-tying thing. Chalk it up to “we all have different skills and abilities.”
- I attend the Pikes Peak Writer’s Conference with great success. My blow-by-blow account of getting screwed by United Airlines is a big hit on Facebook. Most of all, I meet fun, fun, Katherine. I get to spend approximately ten minutes with my Colorado friends before heading back to the airport where United Airlines admits “it misplaced my return ticket.”
- At work: Soda pop is still free, but Kleenex, you have to pay for now. Feels like giant slap in the face.
- Use all of forced stock cash-out to purchase a decent 1975 trailer for the farm, enabling me to have a place to sleep other than the floor. (M)assive fees to prep, move, and hook electric and water are charged. That’s ok, I am all prepared for poverty incase the job thing doesn’t work out. The thing they take after Kleenex is your paycheck.
- Kids start T-ball. Naturally their practices and games are staggered throughout the week. I realize that six hours of each week will be dedicated to watching kids knock the ball into the crowd over and over.
- A friend from the Marines calls me up and practically hands me a new job. I take it. I give the Kleenex-stealing
bastards people 8 days notice. I leave on good terms, but eager to try a new opportunity. I also get to work in stretchy pants most of the time.
There, now you are all up to speed. I hope you are having a lovely Spring! It feels like Florida here in Montana. That’s messed up.
Luckily I wasn’t born a canary.
It was a Tuesday in 2003. I was on the second day of my life in my new, blue, split level house…the ink on the closing paperwork was still drying. I loved the new house. It was shaped a little funky, two living areas, stairs everywhere, but very open. Lots of windows to let the warm Colorado sun shine in. I had just stepped out of the shower, and soon I would be heading north on Platte, on my way to work. I was already looking forward to the weekend, so I could do all of those things that a person who just bought a house can do…unpack, put blinds on the windows, buy a new toothbrush holder. I skipped downstairs to make some toast.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow at the front door. The front door, which was half-window, was the only glass in the house that had a curtain… a yellow thin cloth hanging from a cheap white curtain rod. It wasn’t thin enough to totally obscure the man standing at the front door.
I froze, calculating the possibilities. I was pretty new in town, and no one from work knew where I lived yet. It was around 8 AM on a Tuesday, too early for something to get delivered. Then I realized that whoever was standing there, was just standing. No knocking, no ringing the doorbell. Who the hell was standing at my door?
I slowly backed up the stairs, and suddenly the doorbell rang. I had the feeling that if I could see the shadow of him through the flimsy curtain, he could see me too. The doorbell rang again after a few seconds.
I went to the door and pulled back the curtain. An Asian man stood on my porch, smoking a cigarette.
“Can I help you?” I asked, without opening the door (because only stupid blonde women in horror movies actually open the door).
“I need you to let me in,” he said in a heavily accented voice.
“Why? I asked. The obvious question.
“Gonna s&#k and f&$k,” he said. The hair on the back of my neck stood up in fear. I’m not the type to scream and run in frantic circles, so I said the first thing that came to my mind…a stern “You need to get off my porch right now.” He didn’t budge, instead he looked me in the eyes and took a long drag of his cigarette. I dropped the curtain shut and slowly backed away, trying to think of a plan. He rang the doorbell…not just once, but over and over. BING BING BING BING BING…
I darted up the stairs to grab my phone and my KA-BAR . The doorbell kept ringing. I came back down the stairs, still thinking, thinking. The man was still standing on my porch. I yelled “Go AWAY!” and then I turned to go down the stairs to the basement. But I doubled back quickly, just in time to see him dashing off the porch. I knew he was on the way to the back of the house to try to keep me in sight. As he rounded the house, I dashed into the kitchen and slid behind the island (so convenient!) and I dialed 9-1-1. The emergency dispatcher answered immediately. “Someone’s trying to break into my house,” I said. I peeked around the corner. Sure enough, he was on the back deck…something glinted in the sun. He was holding a knife. The door into the house from the was one big window.
I gave the dispatcher my address. “Do you have anything you can use as a weapon,” she asked me…she sounded afraid for me. I thought of all the calls she might have taken in her career that ended badly.
“I’ve got a knife,” I said.
“Is it a big knife?” She really did ask that.
“It’s a big knife,” I assured her. She recommended that I find a place to hide until the police arrived, but I had to stay behind the island. If I made a break for anywhere else in the house, the Bad Guy with the Knife would notice. I peeked around the corner again. He was furiously tinkering with the door lock. It was surely only moments until he busted in. I mentally pictured how I would hold the knife, how I would keep him from grabbing it, which door I would run to if I had a chance to escape.
BAM BAM BAM! There was a serious knock at the door. I was still on with the dispatcher. She told me it was the police…I wasn’t sure whether or not to leave my hiding spot just yet or not. But I looked to the back door, and no one was there. I cautiously went to the front door and pulled back the curtain. Two of Colorado Springs’ finest were on my porch. I opened the door.
To summarize the story, it took three minutes for the po-po to get there. One of the officers stayed with me, while the other went around the house looking for the Asian man. Even though he was on the back deck seconds before they arrived, the police could find no sign of him. They promised they would do regular patrols in the area for a couple of days. They remarked how they hadn’t had a 9-1-1 call in this neighborhood for fifteen years. One of the officers asked if I owned a gun.
“I don’t,” I said.
“Do you know how to use a gun?” he asked.
“Yes,” I told him. “I had this in my hand the whole time though,” I said, and I pulled the KA-BAR out of my pants (heh).
“Oh man,” he said. “You gotta get a gun. They’re a whole lot easier than fighting someone off with a knife.”
“Yeah, we don’t recommend knife fights,” the other officer agreed.
I couldn’t sleep at my (just purchased) home for days. My boss and his wife let me have their spare bedroom until I got curtains and replaced the windowed door with something more solid. The following Saturday, a team of co-workers came over to help do some basic renovations, put wood blocks in all the sliding windows, and things like that. Eventually I was able to sleep there, but there is nothing quite like the threat of violence to take the shine off of one’s new home.
Looking back, the guy must have been high. If he wanted to get in, he need not bother trying to pop the lock with his weenie knife…he could have just broken the window and let himself in. I was prepared to fight, and since he was a little Asian dude, I think it would have been a good match. Luckily for me, it didn’t come to that…but to this day, I still sleep with my KA-BAR tucked safely under my pillow.