“Oh! There is someone there!” exclaimed Kate. She was more responsible than my sister and I put together.
The two of them let out a scream. But not me. I had my head on straight. “I will scare them!” I boldly remarked. And then, pressing my two hands together, joining my index fingers, I pretended my hands were a gun. I drew this gun and pointed it in the direction of the burglar.
Much to my surprise, the burglar froze. Took an odd stance, one that I had seen in the movies, and then drew his gun on me! “Freeze!”
Again, Kate and my sister screamed. This time with more authority. I could not see the expression on their faces, but even now, it was as if I could. Perhaps because I had seen it so many times before.
I stood there lock-jawed and baffled. Dumbfounded. What was going on?
One loud band on the door was followed by another. Once the panic has passed, my sister rolled her eyes like only she could, “It’s the cops!” she exclaimed, revealing a bit of embarrassment that we suddenly all shared. “My God, you moron, it’s the cops! You drew a fake gun on the cops! You’re so stupid!”
“Oh my God! What should we do?” replied Kate.
Before the words had finished coming out her mouth, my sister was on her way to let them in.
They had a lot of questions for us. The one I dreaded the most was, “Do your parents know where you are?” Instead of feeling like a mature seventeen year old, I felt like I was seven. Or worse, like I had done something a juvenille delinquent would.
Emotionless, I did not reply; I did not like to lie. The cop with whom I had a showdown looked at me, “Did you not know we were cops?”
“No. We thought you were robbers,” I said shamedly.
“YOU. You thought they were robbers,” my sister rebutted In disgust. Thankfully, she did not think either of the two policemen attractive, or she would have been very forward and asked them out. This was her greatest weakness, being a real boy-chaser. But she had no thoughts of that then.
She only snarled at me.
Kate remained quiet.
“Don’t ever draw on a cop! Or pretend to! I almost shot you. I really did. Until I heard you scream,” he chided.
Surely I was shrinking in size. All 60 inches of me. If it were possible. I was too cool to scream. A real tomboy. A leave-your-hair-for-a-week-and-don’t-wash-it kinda girl. Biting and scratching, kicking and squealing. This was never my style. Ironically, it might very well have been by the grace of God that my sister and Kate were girlie girls.
I don’t remember exactly, but I’m pretty sure we told my dad about the misadventure. And I’m pretty sure he was not happy. It’s funny how some things just escape you.
Written by Jori Sams