So our place was broken into late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. No one was hurt, and nothing of any value was stolen. But I swear I'm still running high on endorphins, sweating and shaking alternately. Not because someone broke into our house, because we forgot to lock our security door, so that was our fault, and our place is nigh-impenetrable with the gate locked. What keeps scaring me is how lucky we were. Things could have been a lot worse.
I wake up to the sound of breaking glass, wondering what the hell the cat knocked over. So I am already pissed off. Despite downing a bunch of cold medicine before bed, I am wide awake when I hear the glass. My cat has turned me into a pretty light sleeper over the years. Of course, once I hear footsteps walking through the glass-- even over the sound of the air-conditioner-- I know it is not the cat. I grab my husband's arm, who is slowly gaining a groggy consciousness, and squeeze tightly. The dog has not even made a sound, either sleeping more deeply than either of us or just as confused.
The footsteps stop at our bedroom door, where the door is slowly opened. I feel my husband's hand tighten on mine. I think a million things in a split second: Do they have a gun? Will they shoot my husband first? Do they just want a quick buck? Why didn't we lock the gate?
A lighter flicks a few times before the flame actually stays lit in the blowing of the air-conditioner. Something clicks in my brain: Crackhead.
"Who the f*ck are you?" comes this voice out of my mouth from God-knows-where, that manages to sound more pissed off than I have ever sounded in my life. Was that me? I think.
The lighter is out, and the intruder backs out of our room and through the kitchen the way he-- or she; it could have been Bigfoot, (if Bigfoot knew how to use a lighter) for all I saw of them-- came in, broken glass crunching beneath their feet.
Everything turned out fine, but I am still shaken up over this voice that came out of me, almost without my even thinking. It was the right thing to do in this situation, sure, but if that intruder had a gun, things could have been much different. Which got me to thinking-- no matter how we think we might respond in a certain situation, we might not be right. I had no idea I would respond in such a way. I always figured it was the man's job, or the dog's job, to chase burglars away, but neither of them was really awake until it was too late. I couldn't count on anyone but myself, and I'm glad some part of me was thinking and acting.
In case you're wondering, we locked the security gate last night. ;)