Chances are?

RANDY ANDY

 

Creamy soap is burning my eyes. My clean hair drips down my back. The lovely warm water chills before it reaches my toes. I open the shower door, pick up my favorite big towel and dry myself enough to reach my heavy white terry cloth robe that lies on top of the covered toilet seat. My terry slippers  await me. Ah, it feels so good, I breathe with contentment until a slight draft surprises me. I follow it to my bedroom. Out loud I say to myself, 'What the devil is this? How did my window get opened? I didn't do it!.' I'm scared, close it quickly, take a fast look around the room and see nothing out of order. I just don't understand how this can be. I step into my closet, take off my robe, get clean underwear from the shelf and dress right there. I'm afraid to go down stairs, embarrassed to call the police who will surely make fun of me, tell me I opened the window. I decide not to call them –yet.

 

Should I chance it, be my own investigator? It's morning. The sun is shining. What can happen to me? The N.J Bulletin is at my door as it is daily. There are no strange footprints on the living room carpet. Nothing is missing from my new G.E. refrigerator. I stop to have a large glass of tomato juice, spiked with pepper, two cups of Jasmine tea, a toasted croissant with a touch of strawberry preserves and am ready to joust with trouble.

 

Why I take my broom outside with me I don't know but without a gun maybe my broom will scare away whoever opened my window. Flo Feldman, my next door neighbor, is taking her recycle bin to the alley for pick-up. 'Hi, Flo!', I call. She waves and I motion for her to meet me at our fence. 'Flo, did you see any stranger near my house yesterday, probably in the morning?' 'No, why?' I explain and she tells me I must have left it open myself. No sense belaboring the point. Walking lightly I look at the ground outside my window and see two diagonal marks, possibly ladder marks, yes, ladder marks.  I and my broom go inside.

 

My coffee cannister needs refilling. The pantry looks normal until my eyes pop and I see the box of Oreos I bought last week has been tampered with. The top layer is empty. Mice are not neat so who ate my Oreos? I am just about ready to call the police when something drops on the bathroom tile. To a woman at 911 I explain and tell her I am getting out of the house PDQ. 'Send help.' I hurry to the curb, wait the longest five minutes of my life, and greet two officers in their black and white car. Foolishly I start to take them into my house but they, in unison, say 'Stay here.'  At my door I can see them take their guns from their holsters, slowly go inside.

 

It doesn't take long for them to bring out the interloper, Andy, a neighbor's young son, who can't be more than nine years old. One officer holds him by his ears. The handcuffs he had on slip off, drop on the sidewalk. Andy is crying. The shorter officer asks him what he was doing in my house. 'That is breaking and entering, you may go to jail.' He adds, 'Why did you go in Miss Gordon's house, open her window?' Andy's voice shakes. 'Talk, Kid or you're going to jail. Tell Miss Gordon what you told us, now!' Andy looks at me and mutters, 'I like to watch you take showers. You are the first naked lady I ever saw. You are very pretty. I ate your Oreos because you don't always lock your front door and I was hungry.. I won't do it any more, Miss Gordon, honest I won't.' The officers  walk him down the street, hand him over to his mother.

 

I can only imagine what was said but am concerned. Curious Randy Andy is young, so very young