6.22.03 shot

Gabriel came with his daughter and the weekend was filled to bursting with fun games and conversation. I took him to Uwajimaya and we wandered in a daze admiring all the lovely lovely food and then back at home I made yellow curry and pad thai.

Last night around midnight we were watching Jeeves and Wooster in the basement and the phone rang. I raced up the stairs in case it was an emergency but missed the call. It was my Portland friends, Bob and Stevie and Marisa and probably others, a chorus of voices, calling to say that they love me.

I missed them all with a sharp jab and I was standing in the dining room, ready to burst into tears with longing and regret, when I heard a shot in the alley. Everyone in the house shrieked and Byron came racing upstairs to say he heard something hit the house.

The last time I heard a shot that close to my home was fifteen years ago, when the neighbor shot his dad. The time before that was the day the other neighbor killed himself and the bullet missed my bedroom window by inches.

I found my expanding titanium death club and patroled around the house, turning on all the lights, to scare away any possible intruders.

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