First thing today, I was face to face with a suspicious policeman with a flashlight in the freezing darkness. Also, hopping from foot to foot because I was still in the tee and chuddies I’d worn to bed. The saving grace: I only had the top half of the Dutch door open, so hopefully he didn’t see the superman logo on my undies--my superhero identity is safe.
A few minutes earlier, the security alarm had gone off and I hadn’t responded promptly enough because I thought it was just Big A letting himself in after work.
A few months earlier, Big A started grumbling about how installing a security system in a college town where crime is non-existent “is a waste of resources.” He still occasionally grumbles. But little A’s bedroom is on the floor below us and the baby’s room has a large window, and I’m paranoid.
And the policeman--he was so disappointed when I told him it was a false alarm. A few minutes earlier, he'd looked as eager as Li’l A at three, who would describe how he would “pachack” the bad guys as i put him to bed.*
* This was in Oxford, in the tiny little two-story flat the college had given the two of us. The sad, cold, cell-like, lonely flat that for some reason I just made myself really nostalgic about.