[Critique Group 1] Marcia's January submission

[Marcia Wick]

Calling 911 

Marcia J. Wick

January 2022

Word Count:  577

 

I cuddled with my cat on the old couch, left behind by an ex, and sipped
wine while watching the evening news. My youngest girl, age nine, was taking
a shower; my 12-year-old was listening to music in her bedroom. The doorbell
rang. Good thing I hadn't changed into my PJs yet.

 

It was highly unusual to have unexpected visitors at our house after dark,
even though it was the weekend. I was a single mother raising two pre-teens
without much life outside of work, cooking and cleaning, and caring for my
daughters. I managed within a tight budget, without child support, with a
vision impairment that prevented me from driving. Needless to say, I was
reluctant, being slightly tipsy, to open the door to a stranger that night.

 

"Who is it?" I called through the closed door.

 

"Colorado Springs police, mamm. We need to speak with Madeline."

 

"My daughter?" I cautiously cracked the door. "What has she done?"

 

My wild child was known to find trouble. She struggled to control her
impulses and often behaved recklessly. But that night, she was safe in the
shower.

 

The cop explained, "She called 911 earlier today and said she was home
alone. I need to see her and talk to her to make sure she's okay."

 

I was humiliated, a neglectful parent who had left a helpless child home
alone. Truth was, I had gone out my back door earlier that day and walked to
the grocery store five minutes away to buy a gallon of milk for the girls. 

 

I admitted the officer into the entry and said, "I can explain. I left my
older daughter home with her younger sister for 15 minutes while I went to
the store, although she was riding her bicycle out front in our cul-de-sac
at the time." Sufficiently embarrassed, I asked, "Do you really need me to
pull my child out of the shower?"

 

"Yes," the uniformed man insisted.

 

I fetched my daughter's robe and slipped into the bathroom.

 

"Turn off the water, Madeline." I whispered, not wanting to shout and give
the police more evidence of abuse. "What happened while I was gone to the
grocery? Did you call 911?" 

 

"It was an accident," she mumbled.

 

Of course it was. From birth, my daughter was a walking accident. Her list
of mishaps, miscalculations, misadventures, and mistakes was long.

 

The officer inspected my daughter's arms, legs, and back for bruises. He
then verified my story with my older child.

 

Satisfied, he said, "I can see your children are safe and well. I apologize,
but it's my job. Do you mind if I take a look around the house so I can
close the report?"

 

I huddled with my daughters near the front door while the intruder completed
his civic duty. Thankfully, my humble home passed his inspection and he
departed. I suppose there was some comfort knowing the police were around to
protect my children, but it had taken them more than six hours to respond to
the call.

 

I'd be curious to see a copy of the police report from that day, more than
20 years ago now, if they keep such records for that long. If so, they'll
see a dozen more 911 calls from our home placed by me or one of my daughters
over the years. Like many single parent households, we struggled with mental
health challenges, low income, sexual abuse, and disability. There was the
time.

 

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