Aug. 27, 2003 - 11:25 p.m.
Dear Vincent,
Breaking news, in my very neighborhood there has been a crime worthy of the police blotter. Nay, it is far too serious for the police blotter. It was a dark and stormy Monday evening when the couple down the hill discovered the intruder. He was caught lounging in their basement, yes, lounging watching the sports channel. I like to think he was lounging stealthily or malevolently. When the husband, and the hero of our narrative, happened upon the intruder, the intruder fled. Mrs. Hendrix has informed me that the intruder fled (though I suppose at this point he cannot be labeled an intruder for he was no longer intruding)... fled three houses down, made a hard right onto Bellaford Way, sprinted up the hill that is Bellaford Way like a triathlete (how apt then, that he was watching sports) and disappeared. It would be far more exciting I think, to assume he skulked off into the shadows.
Now you will be wondering, if the escape route was so public, why was he not apprehended. Well Vincent, the answer is quite obvious. The neighborhood was far too busy imparting information of the intruder to aid in his arrest. Naturally, every mother in the neighborhood has personalized her upgraded security system for her children. Not a child walks home from the elementary school, and the swings are unmoved except to be lightly swayed by the breezes. In light of the obvious threat of said intruder returning, a neighborhood watch has been instituted.
Mrs. Hendrix: Did you get the paper about the neighborhood watch?
Me: Yes.
Mrs. Hendrix: Well you will certainly be participating.
Me: No more than I usually do.
Mrs. Hendrix and most of the other women have always had a neighborhood watch of sorts. They will now just add crime to the long list of things to watch for; crime, divorce, marital discontent, children who don't play nicely, boyfriends and girlfriends from outside the neighborhood, home improvements, moving signs, new cars, new refrigerators, parties not everyone is invited to... etc.
One of the woman down the street is teaching her daughter, Ashley to yell, "I FEEL THREATENED!" should she ever feel threatened. The very same exclamation very nearly bubbled up from me today...
Chaos again in the dance department. The department is downsizing due mostly to some budget cuts. Today Andrea, my boss, found me and the following conversation took place:
Andrea: You've heard about the cuts.
Me: Yes. (sinking feeling)
Andrea: We're not going to need all our teachers anymore.
Me: Right. (stomach in shoes)
Andrea: You were interested in staying only until May of 2004?
Me: Yep. (stomach leaking through the shank of my point shoes, if I were to try and go up onto my points I'd slip and slide around in my own digestive fluids and bite the dust)
Andrea: We also won't need the teachers we have for as many hours.
Me: Understandable. (I FEEL THREATENED! stop implying and start firing me)
Andrea: So you are teaching this year right? We don't want to lose you.
Me: Erm, yeah!, uh, of course. (straw into gold)
My first bike was purple with pink tires and spokes adorned with small decorative plastic things that zipped back and forth when the tires turned with characteristic clinks. My dad never took my training wheels off so I could learn how to ride a two wheel. He loosened them without telling me and I learned to balance when I got tired of rocking side to side. I left them on my bike long after I needed them. They were so loose that between the noise of my training wheels grazing the pavement with clings and crunches and the clinks from my spoke ornaments I was a clatter on wheels. Dad backed over my purple bike with his truck, and that was the end of the noise.
There is a preponderance of butterflies about right now. I must confess that I adore them and I even slow down for them if I'm driving and one happens to be in the path of my windshield. Yesterday evening in the twilight I sat outside by the beech tree and a butterfly briefly lit upon the knee of my outstretched leg. It felt like someone standing two feet away had exhaled on my knee. It felt like nothing, but my eyes told me it was so very much of a something. Usually I am fall's staunchest supporter yet this year I think I shall not be able to refrain from resenting it mildly as it will take away the butterflies.
Do you think we should pick another novel, Vincent?
Danger, Will Robinson, Danger,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
