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Wednesday, July 06, 2005

The Stranger

Sunday afternoon Lane 2 was riding her bike and a car with two men (late teens) stopped and tried talking to her. In Spanish. She didn't know what they said and wasn't able to repeat it back to me for translation but she was scared. Out of breath, her little heart pounding through her shirt, she held on to me and described the car, men and said which way they went.

I asked all of the other questions you might be thinking as you read this. She told me she thinks whatever was said "was a question because the end of it had a tone, which sounded higher pitched than the first part."

She really paid attention as scared as she was. "A green car, with a dent on the passenger side, some bondo patch work on the back door, two men, maybe around 19-years-old both Mexican, one tall and skinny, the other fat and tall. The skinny one had a long goat tee beard and a light blue and white jersey with the number 63 on it but I couldn't get the license Mommy because I was too busy speeding away on my bike."

I told her she did a great job coming home and telling right away. Mr. Lane came in the house half way through the insanity. I asked her if they maybe just asked what time it was, or were they asking how she was doing or if they were offering her a ride and before the kid could explain it was all in Spanish and she had no idea, Mr. Lane was scooping her up, putting her into his truck and telling me that he is going to find "these mother fuckers". I thought calling the police was the best bet.

Regardless of if they were asking the time or anything else, two guys in a car should not be stopping little kids who don't know them. I was worried and pissed off. I had the phone in my hand and was getting ready to call the police and then out of my front door I saw Spike (the guy down the street) in his red truck, Mr. Lane in his white truck and Jim (another neighbor friend) in his blue truck, tearing through our neighborhood.

Mr. Lane called his little posse together quite quickly, I was impressed. However, I still couldn't help but think, "There goes the pissed off American red white and blue pickup truck dads." It was very redneck and thankfully we were able to laugh about it later.

As it turns out, Mr. Lane spotted both Jim and Spike and called to them on the CB. Tell me that's not redneck law right there?! So I thought, "If I call the police, chances are, my old man is gonna wind up in the pokey with his two best neighborhood buddies and my life will officially become a country and western song." I tossed the phone onto the couch and kept watch out the door.

It seemed like forever before they returned. None of them had blood on their clothes so I felt I could ask questions. They did see one of the guys walking through a nearby neighborhood and when three big ol' pickup trucks approached him and Mr. Lane hung out of his window and started asking questions, and the guy responded with, "No speak Englais." Not exactly the answer the trucker boys wanted to hear and Mr. Lane began getting out of his truck, the guy ran.

Sure, he could have ran because he was afraid and really didn't understand English. But the fact that he ran just pissed Mr. Lane off more. Not wanting to freak our daughter out anymore, he thought it best to call the police. She was still in tears when they got back. I comforted her and told her to write down everything she remembered, all the stuff she told me, just so she would have all the details for the officer.

But then something in me snapped. I went on my own hunt, pissed off mama bear, no one fucks with my babies. Mr. Lane tried stopping me halfway down the block, and when he realized he couldn't, he handed me a knife, "You know just in case the guy pulls one on you." I slid it in my pocket, he handed me my cell phone and asked me to call him if I found them or if I was in trouble.

Blood boiling, I left on foot, hoping to blow off the anger, not wanting my daughter to see me sweat, I had to go.

At home Lane 1 comforted his sister and helped her write down descriptions for the police, the guys talked about waiting to call them so I didn't wind up in jail, which again, we were fortunate enough to laugh about later.

As much as I hate to do this two part crap, it's a have to. It's after 1 a.m. and I have barely scratched the surface. Just know Lane 1 is safe, and I will pick up on this long story Thursday morning.