I thought I was over this incident, but last night made me realize otherwise.
Almost 8 years ago, when I still lived in the Austin, TX suburbs, someone I knew and trusted broke into my home. It was around midnight and I had been asleep for over an hour. My daughter was up, having just finished an important homework assignment, and was turning off her computer so she could also go to bed when BANG! A fist punched open the dog door leading to our back yard.
I shot awake at the bang and my daughter's scream. As I said, we knew the intruder. So my two dogs were no protection. Their reaction to the surprise midnight intrusion (and theft) was to wag their tails and pant. Well, I am glad at least they were not traumatized. Neither was the intruder, from what I understand. But my daughter and I had trouble sleeping for months to follow. Even years later, we both got spooked at small, night-time noises outside of my parents' empty house.
It has been a long time now since the incident and my daughter seems fine living alone in an apartment on campus. I live with a small dog in an otherwise empty house and feel okay most of the time. But last night, the phone rang at 10 pm, which is very unusual. I paused my Netflix and put down my needlework, picked up the phone and looked at the caller ID. It read "Not Available." I let the phone ring but my answering machine did not pick up.
Ring... Ring... Ring... I counted to 8 before the caller hung up, thinking all the while, "Who has this number? Who would be calling this late at night? Who do I know that is unlisted?" The answer I came up with was nobody. A ripple of irrational fear washed over me but I decided it must be a wrong number. I let the phone ring until it stopped, all the while feeling emotionally assaulted by the prolonged ringing. Still, I knew these feelings were quite irrational and I pushed them down inside me until the ringing stopped.
Then I exhaled breath I had not realized I was holding and I put the phone back on its charger. It occurred to me that my answering machine must be turned off and I should turn it on the next time I walked into my office.
Ring... Ring... The phone started ringing again. I looked at the caller ID. Again, it read "Not Available."
A knot of apprehension formed in my chest. Consciously I rationalized, "This is likely some drunk calling the wrong number for a ride home from the bar." (It did not occur to me that my local bars close early on Sunday nights.) Using my intellect to push down my fear again, I walked into my office and turned on the answering machine. It answered the phone for me, "Hello, this is Beth..."
I listened to hear the caller leave a message. All I heard was a dial tone. I thought, "Good. Now they know they were calling the wrong number." I walked back to my living room to finish watching the end of my show and continue my needlework. Just as I was sitting down...
Ring... Ring... Ring... I got up and walked over to the phone. Looking at the caller ID, I saw that it again read, "Not Available."
I tried to hold it down, really I did, but there was no rationalizing it this time. Fear came bubbling up inside of me, creating a well. I stood, staring at the phone, motionless, trapped by the irrational emotion and having nowhere to go to escape because my refuge, my home, was not safe from this intruder and it was too late at night for me to call out to a friendly voice for solace.
Almost 8 years ago, when I still lived in the Austin, TX suburbs, someone I knew and trusted broke into my home. It was around midnight and I had been asleep for over an hour. My daughter was up, having just finished an important homework assignment, and was turning off her computer so she could also go to bed when BANG! A fist punched open the dog door leading to our back yard.
I shot awake at the bang and my daughter's scream. As I said, we knew the intruder. So my two dogs were no protection. Their reaction to the surprise midnight intrusion (and theft) was to wag their tails and pant. Well, I am glad at least they were not traumatized. Neither was the intruder, from what I understand. But my daughter and I had trouble sleeping for months to follow. Even years later, we both got spooked at small, night-time noises outside of my parents' empty house.
It has been a long time now since the incident and my daughter seems fine living alone in an apartment on campus. I live with a small dog in an otherwise empty house and feel okay most of the time. But last night, the phone rang at 10 pm, which is very unusual. I paused my Netflix and put down my needlework, picked up the phone and looked at the caller ID. It read "Not Available." I let the phone ring but my answering machine did not pick up.
Ring... Ring... Ring... I counted to 8 before the caller hung up, thinking all the while, "Who has this number? Who would be calling this late at night? Who do I know that is unlisted?" The answer I came up with was nobody. A ripple of irrational fear washed over me but I decided it must be a wrong number. I let the phone ring until it stopped, all the while feeling emotionally assaulted by the prolonged ringing. Still, I knew these feelings were quite irrational and I pushed them down inside me until the ringing stopped.Then I exhaled breath I had not realized I was holding and I put the phone back on its charger. It occurred to me that my answering machine must be turned off and I should turn it on the next time I walked into my office.
Ring... Ring... The phone started ringing again. I looked at the caller ID. Again, it read "Not Available."
A knot of apprehension formed in my chest. Consciously I rationalized, "This is likely some drunk calling the wrong number for a ride home from the bar." (It did not occur to me that my local bars close early on Sunday nights.) Using my intellect to push down my fear again, I walked into my office and turned on the answering machine. It answered the phone for me, "Hello, this is Beth..."
I listened to hear the caller leave a message. All I heard was a dial tone. I thought, "Good. Now they know they were calling the wrong number." I walked back to my living room to finish watching the end of my show and continue my needlework. Just as I was sitting down...
Ring... Ring... Ring... I got up and walked over to the phone. Looking at the caller ID, I saw that it again read, "Not Available."
I tried to hold it down, really I did, but there was no rationalizing it this time. Fear came bubbling up inside of me, creating a well. I stood, staring at the phone, motionless, trapped by the irrational emotion and having nowhere to go to escape because my refuge, my home, was not safe from this intruder and it was too late at night for me to call out to a friendly voice for solace.
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