And so here I am. Last night we were hijacked again. We were coming home from an evening out, commemorating my mother’s birthday a little more than two years since she died.
Brendon and myself had already gone into my father’s house to open the garage doors for him. Shouting and doors banging. Brendon running and shouting at me to “Get inside! Shut the door! Shut the door!”. I find the door and close it. I find the panic button and press it. Last time I had not pressed it long enough, so I hold it down. Then I rush to the alarm pad. I press all the little buttons. Fire. Ambulance. Police. Ambulance. Fire. My father comes in with his shirt rumpled and looking dazed. The security people arrive, fill in forms, and leave. The police arive. They are very calm and have to fill in a remarkable amount of forms. Then they leave. And we leave also. My father stays.
You dont care that the car is gone, so long as no one is hurt. You go over the events in your mind again.
It reminds me of working with a bandsaw. You guide the wood through and all is smooth and clean. Then there is a snag. The blade gets trapped, or catches and slams the wood out of your hands. For an instant you feel the true power of the machine you are leaning against and become aware of your vulnrability.