Thursday night we went to see Cake in Paso. It was the boys’ first concert, and while they didn’t know any of the songs, even though I’ve been playing them for months, they enjoyed their meatball subs with their buddies on a picnic blanket by the light of the moon. We got home really late. After a full workday on Friday immersed in Powerpoint and Excel, I was done.
Friday evening, I drop the boys downtown for some more music and a sleepover and head home for a glass of wine, Netflix, and an early bedtime.
About an hour later, I’m startled awake by the incessant sound of a helicopter and spotlights in my bedroom. Somehow lights are shining into the second story french doors. I jump out of my bed, terrified and disoriented and look out the doors. There are two people walking around the back of my house with flashlights. I watch as they look at the chicken coop and then make their way toward the new house.
As I watch them take the back path, I see multiple flashlights inside the upstairs of the new house. There are two cars at the entrance of my driveway, shining their headlights toward the barn so I can’t see what kind of cars they are. I realize the front door of the main house is still unlocked because I’d left it open for the hardwood floor contractor.
Once they’re at a safe distance, I go out on the second story deck. Because of the helicopter, I’m thinking there’s a wildfire and I need to evacuate immediately. The coastal fog is thick and visibility is low. I have a vague plan that I’m going to confront these trespassers and run back inside, lock the door, and call the police. I’m also going to hide in the upstairs bathroom and use my legs to brace the door shut. I know this is fool proof against an intruder after years of practicing it against my brother. Yes, I was totally disoriented and panicked and not thinking straight. From the deck outside, I see two people standing in front of the main house and I yell something to the effect of “Who are you and what are you doing?”
They call me ma’am and say they’re sheriffs.
“Is there a fire? Do I need to leave? My kids aren’t here.” No. They want to come talk to me.
In my pajamas and my most assertive voice I tell them, “I cannot tell that you are sheriffs.” I’m blinded by their headlights and flashlights and as my friend later points out, they could’ve ordered those uniforms off Amazon.
One of the officers comes back across the yard, shines his flashlight on his uniform, and insists on coming up to the second story deck to talk to me. He’s respectful and friendly, but I’m panicky, disoriented, and wondering why they’re searching my home without my consent.
The sheriff explains they’re looking for a man experiencing a mental health crisis. I breathe a sigh of relief. Which in hindsight makes me realize I’m clearly more worried about wildfires than prowlers or manhunts. The officer tells me he’s 6 feet tall and heavyset and they think he’s taken a trail up the hill to my house. Uh, unless he’s being chased by vicious dogs, no one is climbing up this particular hill to my house.
Multiple officers come out of the new house after their self-guided tour. I lock all the front doors and get back in my bed, hopped up on fight and flight. I’m not really sure how to end this story, but keep coming back to these Cake lyrics…
It’s 3 o’clock in the morning
Or maybe it’s 4
I’m thinking of you
Wondering what I should do
But I’m finally cutting
Through this haze