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shovels, locks, and midnight rambles in the dark. and rain.

The logical, very resourceful mathematician husband is currently in England visiting his parents. He'll be back Monday, but in the meantime it's up to me to remember to do the things on his list. For example, on Thursday evenings (even if the Thursday is a holiday) the trash has to be taken up the long, curved, steep driveway to the road.

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, the girlchild and I went to have dinner with the Usual Suspects, dearly loved friends, as close as any family. We had a great dinner and talked and had our usual arguments:

E.R. has jumped the shark!
You can't say that, you've never watched it.
I can say it, I know a shark when I see one.
Hey, you know that mechanical shark business on Lost?
Wait, we're still dealing with the non-existant E.R. shark.

Then we started to watch Groundhog Day, which we all love and almost know by heart. About eight o'clock the girlchild announced she wanted to stay overnight (two teenage girls put out a magnetic force, almost impossible to break once they get close to each other). So I got into my car with the puppies and off we went, home. In the dark and rain.

Note: no car accidents of any kind in this story. However, when I got home I realized that contrary to her multiple promises and protestations, the girlchild had not, in fact, locked up the house. She had not even closed the garage when she drove off to join us for dinner. I was quite irritated, because you know, sixteen year olds have a problem with being responsible, but really. I muttered to myself as I went around turning out lights and locking doors.

Then I puttered for a while, watched some television, sewed. At 9:15 I remembered the trash, so I went off and did that.

You know it's the end of November, but the temperature was about 55 F, and it had stopped raining. So the dogs came out with me and I trudged my way up the driveway, thinking, as I always do, how very dark it is on our road. No streetlights out here in the county. I had to guess about where to put the trashcan in the dark, and then I stood there looking at the house. Lights on in the kitchen and hall, garage door open.

All the doors locked.

I went sprinting down the driveway hoping I was wrong, but no. In my zeal to balance out my daughter's oh-so-casual attitude toward locking up the house, I had gone to the other extreme. Door from the garage into the house: locked. Front door: locked. Back doors: locked. locked. Car: need you ask? Locked. Windows, locked.

The dogs were standing by the front door looking at me expectantly. I have no phone, no flashlight, no keys. No jacket. No umbrella. Some place or another there's a hidden key, but after fifteen miinutes I give up trying to (a) remember where and (b) find it in the dark.

Time to go for a walk over to the neighbor's place. Down the narrow, very dark, pitch black, one lane road. Of course, the neighbors aren't there. They've gone away for the holiday weekend. I'm thinking, I see lights! Down a ways, lights!

By this time my puppies have abandoned me and gone back to wait by the front door. I walk along, focused on the lights... which turn out to be driveway lights, left on because, yes, those neighbors were away, too. In fact, to cut this long story shorter, I walked more than a half mile down the narrow dark road in a sleeveless blouse -- and now it was raining again-- looking for a neighbor, and found: none. Not one of the house occupied. I stood in the middle of the street and yelled HEEEELLLLLLOOOOOO until my voice went hoarse. Nothing.

Finally I turned around and went back home, by now soaked, and of course it's still dark. Did I mention we have coyotes and yes, cougars? The puppies were glad to see me. I was glad to see them. I stood and thought for a minute, went into the garage, came out with a big heavy shovel, and broke the window into my study, which is nearest the front door.

A double hung window isn't all that easy to break, it turns out. I had to swing that shovel like Ernie Banks. When it finally gave, the glass flew about ten feet in every direction. However, I was able to flip the lock, open the lower window, and climb in.

At which point I went around turning on all the lights and opening all the locks.

Then I made some phone calls. I called my husband in England and asked him why we live on a long dark road where not one family cooks their own damned turkey dinner, and how quickly could we move into town? Because you know, this rural dark winding lane thing, it's old. I'm a city girl. I grew up in Chicago. I require street lights. My circadian cycle goes wonky without the gentle prodding of the electric company.

The logical husband listened for a while, made calm noises, told me I was okay now, and then said: sounds like a full fledged panic attack.

Panic attack. Well, yes. Okay. Panic attack, I had one of those, I'll admit it. I am seratoninly challenged. And wouldn't it be strange if I hadn't had an attack? If I had said, oh never mind, I'll sleep on the floor in the garage and look, here's an old newspaper I can use as a blanket? Wouldn't that be more worrisome?

Of course, said the husband, of course.

Then I called Penny and went through the whole thing again. And so then my daughter came home after all, because apparently Penny told her I was still in the grips of a panic attack, and she was going to come out here, at which point the daughter jumped in her car instead and came home. So, you know, points for that.

You've been waiting so patiently for the punch line. It's coming now.

My daughter and I go to lie down and talk, which we often do, with the puppies and lots of good blankets and the lights low. And I tell her the whole story, and she makes all the right noises and says all the right things, and I'm feeling much more ... steady. Really, I'm starting to get my equilibrium back. And so I tell the story one more time, with feeling, to get it out of my system. The utter dark, the lack of any way at all to even see the driveways that lead to houses, the lights that mocked, yes: mocked my increasingly tenuous grasp on calm. Light! Nobody home!

Feeling much better, really. And the daughter says, in a calm, loving tone: Mom, isn't there a phone in the garage?

Yes. Yes, now that you mention it. There is a phone in the garage. An old phone that we never use, but is there, hooked up, for... emergencies. Hanging there on the wall. While I was inching my way through the dark and wet, the phone was hanging there minding its own business. How, I'm asking myself, did I forget the phone?

I recall the husband's tone of voice, the panic attack comment. So that's what he meant. HE remembered the phone, but was afraid to remind me at that point. You see? He's not so dumb. The daughter reminded me only after a full hour of calm talk.

And then, following her revelation: a half hour of hysterical laughter.

This morning I made the necessary phone calls to have the window replaced. I talked to my husband, and we discussed the Emergency Phone That I Somehow Just Forgot. I wondered out loud if I should talk to my doctor about my medications. He kept silent on that topic. I picked up glass and vacuumed and picked up more glass. A friend came to measure the window and tape it up and I vacuumed again.

Now I feel as though I've run a marathon, and I'm wondering if going to sleep at one in the afternoon would be a reasonable thing.

Panic takes a lot out of a girl.

November 25, 2005 12:59 PM

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Comments

Posted by: Marg at November 25, 2005 03:32 PM

Posted by: Sara Donati at November 25, 2005 03:40 PM

Posted by: Danielle at November 25, 2005 06:34 PM

Posted by: HB at November 25, 2005 08:19 PM

Posted by: deborah at November 26, 2005 05:39 PM

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