I Remember Calling Him
I was wearing black capris and a pair of basket-weave heeled sandals. One of the heels had been mauled by our pit bull, but it matched, and I was trying to find a job.
I was standing on the back porch. My friend told me that it was a “dream house.”
I told him I found a job, not at Piggly Wiggly (He didn’t want me to work there). I was going to work as a receptionist at the local vet. It would be wonderful, to be around animals and people that love animals.
He said, “That’s good,” but he sounded weary, and he was coming home to work on the trucks in the yard because, he said, “I just don’t feel good.”
I went to my mother-in-law’s house to pick up my baby son, and my father-in-law offered me some fish sticks for lunch, so I stayed for a little while.
The Locked Door
When I got home, the back door was locked.
We never locked the door.
I didn’t even have a key.
I knocked and knocked, and he didn’t come to the door. He was sick. He must be sleeping. I asked a person on scene to help.
It was cold, and I knew my husband would not want me to keep the baby outside in the cold. It was taking so long, and he wasn’t coming to the door.
My nephew did this a month ago. He locked his door and was sleeping so hard that no one could wake him up by pounding on the door. My husband had to jimmy the door open. It must run in the family. My husband is sleeping so hard right now that he can’t hear pounding on the door. My baby will be cold if I wait here too long.
I went back to my parents-in-laws’ house. They had a key, so they asked me to stay with my grandfather-in-law and left to go open the door. I watched tv, rocking my son.
My cousin called. I don’t remember what we talked about. Someone else called while I was talking to her, but it was an old cell phone. I’ll never know who that was.
I started calling my husband and my parents-in-law. No one answered.
Finally I asked my grandfather-in-law if he would be okay if I ran to the house. He assured me he would be okay.
Heartbreak Behind the Locked Door
I will never forget the locked door. Even now, years later, I sometimes shudder when I get home and have to unlock my door.
A locked door should be a symbol of safety, but I remember heartbreak behind it.
Click here for Part 2 of What Happened.Tags: shock