Last night after a relaxing Sabbath spent at church (not relaxing) and a windy picnic on the beach with friends, I had retired to the powder room (i.e., I was hiding out with a book on the toilet; Sally and Susan were watching a movie, so sue us, we’re not super-parents).
Dick was trying, rather ineffectually, to quiet an inconsolable Spot–they were camped out on our bed, lying in wait for me to emerge. It was the witching hour, the 5 pm meltdown that’s a cross between a full moon and PMS on steroids. I heard a crunching sound, but really, wasn’t too concerned. Spot was getting pretty loud. I looked out through our bedroom window to the backyard and saw this:
Dick called the police while I retreated to my chair to nurse the baby. Very soothing. A quite attractive, blonde policewoman showed up about 15 minutes later (good response time that). Really, she was super thin, considering that she was wearing a bulky vest under her uniform, but despite Dick’s explanation that I am a fan of Law& Order type shows, I didn’t confirm that she was wearing a bullet-proof vest out of fangirl giddiness, but rather, resignation that she would consider it necessary to be thus prepared on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in South-St.Pete-Zion.
She did some investigating and reported to us that there had been a domestic dispute at the blue house across the alley. A man, grandson to the owner, got in an argument with the women with whom he shares a child. Apparently, he has found a new love, which had broken the heart, if not the sexual drive, of the mother of his child.
I think it safe to conjecture that her sexual drive is not broken because she is currently pregnant with another man’s baby. But, still, she got mad, and after breaking a couple of his windows, backed too quickly (and vehemently) into our fence and caused the above damage.
Note: our two-year-old fence has withstood numerous hurricanes. The former boyfriend (father?/grandson?/scorner of former lovers?/all-around delinquent?) filled out a witness report under threat of perjury if he later reconciles and changes his story, and so we pressed charges, because, dang it, laws were broken, damage was done, Jane is pissed off! Dick thought charges were a waste of time because it will only take us a trip to Home Depot and a couple hours to fix it (and when I say us, I mean him).
The police officer had some interesting things to say about our neighborhood; not surprising, but interesting. I couldn’t possibly repeat them without sounding completely racist* (which I am, but then, you know I don’t like white trash either, so I think it’s only fair). What irritates me is that we have lived in seriously dangerous places, and never have we had such trouble.
Jerry Springer, please come take all my neighbors away…
*All right, “racist” doesn’t really describe how I feel. I don’t dislike or look down on people because of their race. But I do dislike it when people have domestic disputes that result in property damage and people who sell or do drugs in front of my house and people who shoot into my house and people who have children by multiple fathers they’re not married to and the multiple fathers and people who yell obscenities at me as I drive down my block and people who troll for johns on the corner and the johns who prey on people desperate enough to see prostitution as a career choice.
Our next door neighbor to the east, Lily, is a big exception. And we miss Eddie, who rented the house to the west for about 6 months and was a very good neighbor. Lily is a kind, considerate great-grandmother who looks more like a grandmother and, best of all, has a great sense of humor.
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