I just got back from a truncated walk with Mister (Irving Brown) Socks.

It was a walk that started with my diligent adherence to duties with the taking out of a bunch of recyclables and then it became a slightly more troubled walk as I stumbled deliriously through my typically ire-raising gauntlet of spider webs. The walk was going downhill. I should have read the signs. The signs in the webs.

The night was so splendidly pleasant that I was all ready to make up for the days short-short walks that we had taken earlier . . . and then woosh! One police car whizzed by from behind me. Then, at the corner, I saw another patrol car go by and then, in the other direction, two more – with one continuing straight and the other taking a left away from me.

I was starting to get a bit antsy – because even though I evidently live on a normal thoroughfare for Montclair’s finest . . . This was getting a touch out of control.

From behind me – a police car came up – and I could feel it slow down to check me out. But then, as we got to the corner, it zoomed off. Three more zipped by in all different directions and then, just as soon as I crossed the street, one of the cars pulled over to the curb.

“Excuse me sir.” came the serious voice from the dark of the car. “Uh. Yes?!” I said back – very composed – considering the fact that I wanted to really get to the bottom of all of the cars flying around . . . Who were they hunting? What did that person do??

“Did you just come down that street?” He asked. And again I replied with my completely self-unassured. self-questioning response of “Uh. Yes?!” Then – as he was asking the next question – I heard the little radio say ” . . . wearing a white shirt . .. ” I was wearing a white shirt and was starting to get needlessly skittish. The radio voice continued ” . . . dreadlocks . . .” Well – friends – I don’t have any of those – so I figured that I was in the clear.

The policeman got even more serious than he had been and asked if I had either seen anyone or walked past anyone while I was walking around . . . And even though those two things weren’t necessarily mutually exclusive . . . I pushed my brain past that speed-bump of a paradox and gave him a stern “No, sir.”

This was when I took my opportunity to present my boldest of queries . . . I took a shallow breath and said “Should I . . . Uhm . . . Go back home?!?”

He looked at me . . . and with measured weight said “Yes. You. Should.”

So – when the man with the gun suggests that something be done . . . Guess who jumps to the front of the line to make sure that it is done with a quickness?? Yep – Yep – You guessed it . . . Me. That’s right!

The night and the walk back was’t very far – but – I kind of allowed my imagination to run freely and yowza did I contract some serious case of nerves! I kept looking over my shoulder and hopping at every shadow that Socks was itching to investigate . . . But nothing happened.

A couple of streets away – I could hear little bits of siren and the occasional flash of blue light . . . But nothing beyond that. So now I go to sleep wondering if everything in the world is okay . . . And wondering what the person wearing a white t-shirt with dreadlocks maybe did . . . And why they did it . . . Or – maybe – if something was done to them – and the police are looking for them so that they can help . . . Or something.

The possibilities make my mind race . . . Which is exactly what I am not looking for before I lay my head down to sleep.

Pleasant dreams all.

    • bumpercar
      bumpercar says:

      I know . . . I know . . . I know!

      It is crazy that I live in the nicest neighborhood that I have ever lived in – and am still nervously looking over my shoulder?!?

      Boo!

      No more long late night walks for me.