Monday, February 17, 2014

We Live Here

It's all fun and games until the police show up.

Okay, I need to back up.  A lot.

Something happened a week ago.  Something really horrible.  Something that has pretty much traumatized me (and as much as I'm aware of that trauma, I can't seem to get past it either).  Right at this moment, I'm choosing to focus on the funny thing that followed instead of the horribleness.  But I need to at least explain the horribleness (to some degree) in order to explain the funny.

Our children were with my in-laws last Monday night, so D and I could go to a kindergarten registration information session for LE.  We knew we were running out of some staples at home (bread, milk, cold cuts), so we asked our in-laws if they wouldn't mind if we ran out after the session and grabbed the things we needed before we came back to pick up the kids.  The point of this is to say that my kids were, thankfully, not with us that night.

The session got out and we drove to the store.  We got all the way to the final intersection right before we arrived.  And then everything went to hell in a hand basket, really quickly.

We were stopped in the left turn lane.  The lanes going straight (in both directions) had green lights.  And there was a pedestrian trying to cross the road.  I think you can probably guess where this is going, so I'll try to spare any nasty details because no one needs to know exactly what's stuck in my brain forever.  All you need to know is that the pedestrian was struck, not by us (we were stopped, remember), and I was the only eye witness to it because I absentmindedly turned to look out the passenger window at the exact moment it happened.

I couldn't look directly at the man for about ten seconds after it happened because I was afraid he wouldn't even be alive.  Miracle of miracles, he was conscious, though.  Emergency crews arrived almost immediately, and were able to take the man to the hospital for observation (he was, and as far as I know, still is in stable condition).  In order to get out of their way, D gave them our information so they could take our statements when things had settled down a bit.  I assumed that meant I'd be driving to the police station at some point later that night or the next day, but thought nothing more of it.

We picked up what we needed from the store (I would have preferred to go home, but kids still need milk to drink and sandwiches for lunch the next day), and we went to pick up the kids.  We arrived home about fifteen minutes after that to a police cruiser in our driveway.

At which point, real panic set in.

D: "He wants to take your statement now?  HERE?"
Me: "Crap. Crap crap crap.  Okay."

Why panic?  Well, at that moment, not only was our home a disaster area because, you know, kids.  But also, we had not swept the floors in several days from the dirt that came in after the latest snow storm, we had about six storage bins stacked in the middle of the living room that needed to be sorted through and ultimately put back in the attic, and the kitchen tables (I don't even want to go into why we currently have two kitchen tables) were completed covered in newspapers, coloring books, computers, and who knows what else.  I mean, it truly was a miracle that the Christmas tree was even taken down.  (Thank God it was taken down!)

The officer stepped into the house as I did, and I believe my unofficial statement started something like this: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. This is awful. Can I move that for you? Here, let me clear a space. I'm so so sorry."

Thank God the official statement didn't read quite like that.

1 comment:

matt_w said...

Thank goodness that the pedestrian is OK! As awful as that image in your head has to be, at least he survived the whole ordeal. It's terrible that you had to witness that, though. I'm sure that the officer, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't bothered a bit by your messy house.