The Eye of Fear

Have you ever been afraid? I've met some people that say they've actually never felt deep fear. More than once, we've been introduced. It has come with different depths and none pleasant.

The first introduction was as harsh as I ever want to know. A few months before mom lost her eyesight, someone tried to break into our house. The scariest part for me, at age 12, was that "he" knew WE knew, he was trying to get in. He kept coming and did not appear to feel any of the fear that ate our skin.

Can you just imagine what he would have done, had he succeeded? I could even then, and now, with the years of life, I shiver to think. 1963 was an emotional, even violent time, politically. Mom wrote many letters to the editor, representatives, governors, and congress, gradually beginning to really tick some people off. They were powerful people I think, because for about 3 weeks or so...we were protected by the FBI.

I know that sounds incredible. For me, I found riding to school in a shiny "unnoticeable" big black car thrilling. I figured we had some strange uncles in the family, and didn't give it much thought. Mom and Dad said to say relatives were visiting, and so that was the cover story. For a busy 12 year old, life continued. We lived in the land of odd, so this was just another day that gave us only a moment's pause.

I never knew the real reason for the FBI to be hanging around, and we were so busy during the next few years trying to cope with Mom's blindness, which followed this incident, that I didn't question my parents about the "why."

Again, that sounds wild, but if someone in your family loses their sight, I think you will then understand that everything else takes a back seat. We had new fears to fight.

The night that creeped me out, and caused me to be somewhat of a "scaredy cat" even now, is forever burned into my memory. After this night, the strange uncles arrived, and for awhile, we had lots of company. When both your parents have top secret clearances and work in the space program, you discover that Uncle Sam doesn't like it's people to be threatened.

Mom seemed normal to me. She had a lot of friends, but evidently could add at least one or one group of enemies to the list.

The day began as any other. When you think about it, a day dawns, and we never know it's conclusion in advance. We take our safety and routine so much for granted, as the hands of the clock move. Life ticks by, and suddenly disaster claims who it will.

Late into the evening, Mom was typing in the dining room; I was reading, and Dad was gone on one of his rare camping trips. After this night, he never went on them again. As midnight approached, it was comforting to hear the click of the keyboard, and I soon fell asleep with my book on my chest.

"Marisue."

Mom's whisper jerked me awake. It was more of a shock than if she had shouted.

"MM? What?" I whispered back, sitting up with a start. Isn't it strange how whispering is so instantly contagious? Someone can shout at me, and I don't shout back necessarily, but whisper and I'm right there with imitation.

"Come with me, someone is trying to get into the house." Mom always cut to the chase. No fake stuff. No build up.

"Ok." She had my attention. This was right out of Nancy Drew. "What are we going to do?" Fear stabbed my stomach. I had never felt that kind of pain. Ok, exit Nancy Drew and enter Jack the Ripper.

We tiptoed into the dining room. Oh. Smart. Someone was jerking on the patio door which was IN THE DINING ROOM. Through the curtains, we could see a filmy shadow lit up by the outside street light. The only phone we had was on the counter, right by the patio door.

The shadow looked like a man. We had the impression of a big man, but couldn't be sure. We both froze. I willed my legs to move, my voice to scream, my hand to find a weapon. No parts of me were listening. My mother must have been feeling something similar because the only part of her that turned was her head towards me when she heard me whisper "shit." Well, at least I whispered.

Suddenly, she found her feet and leapt to the phone, reaching it through the kitchen opening to the counter. I have no idea how she got to the kitchen, since it was several feet away and I didn't see her leave the room. Motions were jerky, as if we were seeing only every 3 or 4 seconds. My breath was coming in short gasps. I saw black dots, and wondered if I was going to fall down.

Just as she picked up the phone to dial the police - then you could do it by hitting O for operator - the "man" outside said clear as a bell "Don't touch that phone." I screamed. My voice had found it's home. To hear that eerie, deep, raspy voice was the ugliest and scariest sound I ever heard. A mature, mean deep voice. It is carved into my mental auditory storage bin, though I've tried to dump it out for years.

Mom whispered into the phone and motioned me to come to her in the kitchen. That put the counter between us and the patio door. Her hands were on a long butcher knife as she pushed me behind her and gave the police our address. I did not feel better now that we were armed.

The side door to the house, our north door, jiggled. A few seconds later, the front door, suddenly seeming to be such a thin barrier, shook and the doorknob turned a bit. The door was supposed to be behind a locked screen but the knob jiggled, turning back and forth against the lock. I looked at Mom, she looked at me, and we both said "shhhh" to each other at the same time. I started to giggle and Mom put her hand over my mouth.

"Stop it. We will panic later."

I stopped. Ok by me, I had plenty of panic to contribute. Fear stomped through my mouth, taking a slice at my dry tongue. Later, I discovered it had cracked. I can now say that I stuck my tongue out at a policeman when I was 12. When I complained it hurt, the officer wanted to see if I had bitten it. Once he saw the cracked tongue, he told me it was from the adrenalin in my system. It had happened to him before, too, he assured me, which made me feel very important to have an ailment that cops suffered from as well.

"Fear lands on everyone and especially the brave." he informed. No wonder I married a cop 12 years later.

With a sharp cracking sound, the door bounced but remained shut. In the distance, police sirens pierced the night. We finally were able to open the door to the men in blue.

Since that night, I've always loved a man in uniform.

We don't know who it was. He was never caught, and sometimes I wondered if it had been a dream. It had that quality of "out of body-ness." The 3 weeks of FBI were certainly not a dream. I remember nice smiles, quiet adult talks I was forbidden to hear...though not from lack of trying. I even put the glass to the door. It yielded nothing but the roar of blood rushing through my own body. Movies are so fake.

From little snippets of this and that, I concluded that mom had made some political group really angry, with her preaching of rights for any color, anywhere, and they had threatened to kidnap her, and then "tar and feather" her. Gruesome thought. So, since she had knowledge of space secrets, (Area 51 maybe?) the FBI didn't want her gone. Well, I'm glad because neither did we...and I especially didn't want to go. I had a feeling "they" didn't like kids.

Mom didn't write letters for awhile, and I've always been cautious about making groups of people mad. I also don't put much faith in re-assuring comments like "Oh, don't be afraid, nothing will happen." when people are trying to minimize something scarey.

I know things CAN happen. And, then I married a cop, and things DID happen.

So, last week, when the vandalism on our storage property occurred 50 - 100 yards away from my front door, in the form of 4 unit doors being kicked in, I had to think our front door could be next.

My husband, being the wise man he is, knew that a casual, "Oh, we'll be ok." wasn't going to cut the mustard with me. Our company approved a storm door and the door was purchased and installed on my birthday.

I feel more comfortable about reaching my next.

Maybe it's just kids, but just kids hurt people everyday. First, "they" just cut through the fence 2 or 3 times a week. Now, they kicked in doors. I'm not really good with logic, but it's simple thought process that our apartment or the office door could be next.

So, fear takes the back seat. I have another layer of protection, against a sometimes not so nice world.

I am Marisue, and I write.