He had his knife to my throat. He was yelling his demands, as the sweat beaded on his forehead. A forehead that was larger than most, as balding had begun, but he was by no means an old or out of shape man. And for some reason, he kept a knife larger than Crocodile Dundee’s laying on his dining room table at all times.
Otherwise we would’ve been safe. I looked around the room at the other faces, all terrified at what might happen before this was all over. For some reason, I’d been chosen as the one he would open up to. And demand things from. I casually put my hand in my pocket. MY CELL PHONE!!! Oh man, I knew there had to be a silver lining somewhere. Stupid touchpad though….I couldn’t imagine how I would try and dial 9-1-1 without arousing suspicion.
After some nonchalant back and forth, I was able to divert his attention to something else just long enough for me to dial the numbers with the phone still in my pocket. My only hope was that they would hear what was going on.
Now, he was yelling something new. He wanted me to go out to the driveway, and sit in the front seat of the car. He wanted me to use the phone he hands me (my hand is out of my pocket by now, thankfully…..and I’m praying they can hear what is going on, or at least trace the call), and wants me to transfer money from my bank account into his. I tell him I don’t have that much money IN my account to begin with….but sweaty bald men with a knife at your throat don’t seem to listen to reason much.
I began to walk slowly toward the door. I looked around the room at my family, some blurry people, a few I recognized….all of their faces registered fear and “help us” at the same time. My only hope was that the phone in my pocket had already done what was needed, and I could let the situation enter the hands of the officials soon enough. So he wanted me to go outside and sit in the car where he could see me, eh? Odd request….but he was now threatening someone else….and it was up to me to follow through. Okay…I’ll go.
I was at the doorway, and had just opened the glass storm door….when something caught my hand. I looked down. It was my almost-two-year-old, Sophie. The thumb of her other hand in mouth, and casually looking outside at the darkened neighborhood, she tugged on my hand. As I looked down at her, she looked up at me, removing the thumb from her mouth said, “Daddy, outside!!!???”
I love that even in my weirdest, most intense dreams….Sophie takes advantage of any opportunity to go outside. 🙂 I love my daughters.
words from wick 