The first step

The house is very neat and well kept. Not a speck of dust or dirt exists. Family photos are lovingly arranged on the mantle, and the days paper is folded neatly at the kitchen table. She herself, is a spry, healthy seventy something grandmother. A widow who lives alone in her large house.

For weeks now, a man has been stalking her. He has broken into her house, stolen her things, destroyed tranquility that existed in search of valuables. She has been forced to change the locks on the doors, hide her jewelry and purse, and call the police to her quiet neighborhood many times.

It all started when she hired him as a painter. He never finished the job and ever since has been lurking around the house. He has disguised himself as various things; a painter, maintenance person, landscaper. If only she had known this before. An altercation with the stalker has even left her with a black eye. A man willing to do the unfathomable act of assaulting an elderly woman. She's put three locks on every door, and yet still he manages to penetrate this supposed security.

The police have all but ignored her pleas for help. Each investigation has yielded no results, no leads, no resolution. "How can this be?!" She cried the last time the police came. "He was here in the house! I saw him in the bedroom, going through my things. I ran down here and called you." The police try to explain that they've searched the whole house, inside and out and have found no one. She begins to feel that calling the police is futile. She is incredulous over their inept response to her calls, and must take her own action. She threatens to assault anyone who enters the house with a pan or a kitchen knife. She strategically places potential weapons throughout the house, ready to defend it.

After countless sleepless nights, she decides to leave the house she raised her children in. She can think of no other way to be rid of the man who is tormenting her on a near daily basis. She can no longer endure the endless hours of worry, the mental anguish, and the curious stares from prying neighbors.

Worry and concern overwhelm her family, and her son comes over with a solution. With him is the social worker that's been trying to help her, but seems as useless as the police. A police officer is there too. “What is going on?” She wonders to herself, “Why is there an ambulance parked outside?” The son explains that because of this man causing her to be frazzled and abused, they think it's a good idea for her to go to the hospital to be checked out. "Checked out?!" she demands, "What do you mean by 'checked out'?" He's worried about her, he claims. "It's not me who should be 'checked out' it's him! He's causing all these problems. That's why I’m going to leave this state, it's the only way! I don't want to go anywhere but far away!" The police officer then tells her she has no choice but to go. "I am insulted! You're doing this to me," she shouted at the son, "I'll never...I'll never forgive you for this."
It's clear she's not willing, but she says she’ll go. It takes 20 minutes of searching to find her purse because she can't remember where she's hidden it so that he can't find it.

Soon, she'll be told that the man, her tormenter, doesn't exist. He never has. It's she who has been moving her things, there has never been a break in, and a fall is to blame for her black eye. She will refuse to accept this truth.
But, eventually, she'll put the evidence together, realize what's really been going on, and sadly begin to doubt everything she ever believed in, her reality warped forever.
And, one day, she'll forgive her son.

Comments

Anonymous said…
its a beautifl peaice of writing, el, the honey and i both agree.

:-)

~m
Anonymous said…
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