TheBanyanTree: The terrorists among us

[NancyIee at aol.com]

I was far away, visiting. I called home daily, or she called me, just to keep 
in touch. We were moving into our new home, and I went into my past, place 
and life, to pack and bring those things we would need. She stayed at home, her 
own trip to follow on my return.

She called early one morning, and I could hear the radio, the coffee pot, and 
the echo of her voice in our new and still-empty home.  Her voice contained 
more than echo.

"Someone ran down our mailbox," she told me. She had found it on going out 
that morning, and in spite of her assurances, I could hear concern in her voice. 
I refused to call it 'fear.' for she is not a fearful woman.

I told her to call the police, which, later, she said she had. A report was 
made (it's a federal offense to destroy a mail box, did you know?)  She also 
had a neighbor help her put the post and mailbox back in some sort of order.

The next morning, she called again. "They ran down our mailbox," she said, 
and the fear was obvious by this time. She said the vandals had left a note, and 
she read it to me. I tried to soothe her fear while hiding my rising anger. 
How dare they?  We moved from the city to this quiet countryside for peace, and 
instead we came to this.  I told her to call the police again, which she did, 
and another report was made.  There is really nothing they can do, but a 
report means they have something on record, something to use if they should ever 
discover the perpetrators.

I returned home, and her tears of welcome were for relief as well. I was 
back, and meaner than she.  Time came for her own trip, and off she went, sighing 
in anticipation of being away, yet worried about my staying home alone. Go, 
relax, I told her. Get away and enjoy your visit.

On Sunday morning, probably on their way home from church, someone ripped 
down our flag.  We have flags waving from a single flag pole at the end of our 
long driveway. One is a large American flag, one is a United States Marine flag 
(and who in their right mind will mess with a former Marine, tell me?)  It was 
the third flag the unknown coward tore down, a bright, multi-hued flag.

I had to tell her when she called. She would be so angry if I did not. She 
worried about my well-being. I said it was nothing. In truth, whoever sneaks by 
and declares war on two retired ladies had better watch their backs.  I called 
the police, as my friend said. Another report was made. They can do nothing.

I repaired the cord and raised the flags. I armed myself with my super 
camera, the one with the ultra zoom lens and daylight flash, and my trusty mean dog 
at my side. At night, I sit in my darkened van among the trees at the end of 
the driveway and wait.

NancyLee