Alone Outside the Walls

THE NIGHT HE NEVER CAME HOME

That last night he came home from work, it just so happened that I had cooked his favorite meal.  That fact comforted me many times in the months and years that followed.  It was his night to go to class, and I remember the children and me standing just outside the front door, waving goodbye as he drove off. 

Little did I know that he would never come home again.  As always, I cleaned up the kitchen and got the children bathed and into bed, so that the house would be clean and quiet when he came in.  But he didn’t come home at the usual time.  The commode tank overflowed.  There was an inch of water all over the carpet in the bathroom before I heard it and realized what was going on. 

I was so mad at Dave as I turned off the water to the commode.  “Where is that man!?”  I muttered out loud to myself.  “The one time I need him home is the one time he doesn’t show up."  “Well,”  I continued my thoughts,  “I’m not going to clean this mess up!  He can just see what happened when he gets here, knowing he should have been here; and he can clean it up!”  

Another hour passed and slowly my anger turned to concern.  Finally, I called the hospital to see if anyone by his name had been brought in through emergency.  No, there hadn’t.  Another hour passed.  This time I called the Sheriff’s department.  I asked them if they had any report of an accident that involved our car - and I described our car.  No, there hadn’t.  

I finally decided I’d better clean up the messy floor in the bathroom.  I sopped up the water off the floor into a bucket until I could fold up the carpet and drag it outside.  I managed to fling it over the clothesline on the carport to drip dry.  Then I mopped the floor dry.

I hardly had everything put away when I heard our little dog, Tony, barking outside.  “Dave’s here!” I thought as I hurried towards the door.  But, I stopped short of the door.  Tony doesn’t bark at Dave. 

At that moment, a pounding came on the door.  I pulled back the curtain a little bit at the window by the door; and there stood a man holding the most real looking badge in his hand.  I had never seen a real badge before, but it looked authentic to me. 

Then I remembered what Dave had once told me after he got out of prison: “I will be the first one they come looking for when something happens,”  he said, “because I’m an ex-con.”

“Open up!”  The man holding the authentic-looking badge shouted.