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A shuffling, scuffing kind of noise came from the entry room along with some language of another race. My place in the easy chair in front of the television was where this tired body did not wish to move. Whoever it was came into the kitchen all the while babbling in some strange language. My consciousness turned from curiosity to the need to move out of a slumber like condition. For the life of me I couldn’t recognize this person standing in the middle of my kitchen.
The man was emaciated. His hair was long and straggled in thin disarray around his shoulders. The soft knit exercise suit he wore had obviously been cut from the ankle to his upper thigh.
“Gill? Gill?” I half way expected my guess at his identity to be wrong. This man, only an acquaintance, we had known as a robust person with kindness in his eyes and gentleness in his personality. Here was someone else. His eyes were shifting about the room with a frightened expression.
My sewing machine was still on the table where work on some mending was my last chore. Scissors left beside the machine caught his eye.
Suddenly the man grabbed up the scissors and began brandishing them about in wild swings. He lunged toward Rhonda with the tool that now had become a weapon. My heart made me suddenly afraid as I stepped up in between him and my disabled daughter.
“Gill? Gill? What is wrong?” Now I was sure the man was a person we had not seen for a while. “Are you ill? Have you been taking your medicine? What is wrong?”
Rod, get him a cup of coffee and a couple cookies, please?” Diabetes was the man’s health worry and in my racing mind something told me he might be having a diabetic crash.
Gill snapped down on one of the gingersnap cookies and crunched it. As he sat chewing noisily on only half of the cookie that very act seemed to bring him back to a bit of reality.
“Rod, we will have to get him home!” It didn’t occur to me my husband had still not recognized the intruder.
“Where does he live?” Rodney asked.
“Where was my take charge husband of times past?” And my heart sank.
The rest of the story of how my grown children called all came from where they were to lovingly help get the man subdued and home while I notified Gill’s family will have to be told another time. As it was, the incident took a couple of days with me trying to bring myself back to focus on the bits of winter time decorating with on sale Pansies and such.
Just as my mind and body was beginning to
be restored the reporters are covering the killing of 20 children and eight people in an elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. The few days before December 17, 2012, my daughter’s birthday, will not soon be forgotten, if ever.
The man was emaciated. His hair was long and straggled in thin disarray around his shoulders. The soft knit exercise suit he wore had obviously been cut from the ankle to his upper thigh.
“Gill? Gill?” I half way expected my guess at his identity to be wrong. This man, only an acquaintance, we had known as a robust person with kindness in his eyes and gentleness in his personality. Here was someone else. His eyes were shifting about the room with a frightened expression.
My sewing machine was still on the table where work on some mending was my last chore. Scissors left beside the machine caught his eye.
Suddenly the man grabbed up the scissors and began brandishing them about in wild swings. He lunged toward Rhonda with the tool that now had become a weapon. My heart made me suddenly afraid as I stepped up in between him and my disabled daughter.
“Gill? Gill? What is wrong?” Now I was sure the man was a person we had not seen for a while. “Are you ill? Have you been taking your medicine? What is wrong?”
Rod, get him a cup of coffee and a couple cookies, please?” Diabetes was the man’s health worry and in my racing mind something told me he might be having a diabetic crash.
Gill snapped down on one of the gingersnap cookies and crunched it. As he sat chewing noisily on only half of the cookie that very act seemed to bring him back to a bit of reality.
“Rod, we will have to get him home!” It didn’t occur to me my husband had still not recognized the intruder.
“Where does he live?” Rodney asked.
“Where was my take charge husband of times past?” And my heart sank.
The rest of the story of how my grown children called all came from where they were to lovingly help get the man subdued and home while I notified Gill’s family will have to be told another time. As it was, the incident took a couple of days with me trying to bring myself back to focus on the bits of winter time decorating with on sale Pansies and such.
Just as my mind and body was beginning to
be restored the reporters are covering the killing of 20 children and eight people in an elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. The few days before December 17, 2012, my daughter’s birthday, will not soon be forgotten, if ever.