Holes where they don't belong

In the spirit of putting holes where they don't belong, and to celebrate my new piercing, read about the drive-by shooting that made it's way down my street at 1 am Sunday morning.

Isn't it ironic how you can be so tired of living until your living is threatened? It was almost one o'clock in the morning. Usually at this time I'm sitting at the computer starting to fade. For some reason, though, this night I found myself in bed already, doing what fuels my motivations--making a list. My phone was next to me as I waited for Kristie to call me back. Then, I heard a gun shot--not too uncommon when you are surrounded by Sebastopol Road, West Ninth, and downtown. But then, one shot turned into two and then three and then as more shots were fired, they sounded closer and closer until. . . I heard the bullets hitting things close to me. It sounded like they were hitting my back yard fence. One bullet came so close to my window that I heard it whistle through the air before it struck. Now, I'm not a big gun person, but my gun-knowledgeable contacts say that this is pretty darn close.

As fast as the shots came, they left and I heard the gun fire continue to trail down the street as a quiet but speeding car sped down Stony Point Road headed north. Somewhere in the midst of it all I got out of bed because I found myself on the floor ducking and holding my dog down. I grabbed the phone (which usually isn't near me at night) and called 9-1-1. "9-1-1 dispatch, what is your emergency?" I have to call 9-1-1 frequently for car accidents outside my house and the tone of this dispatcher's voice as she asked this question was a bit more panicked than other's I've talked to. I could tell they already knew. "There's been a drive by shooting on Stony Point Road". My voice was shaking almost as bad as the hand trying to hold onto the phone. I answered a few more ridiculous questions, "Did you see anything?" (Um, nooooooooo. I was on the floor with my hands over my head.) "Are you sure it was gun fire?" The dispatcher assured me that there were several police cars already in the area (Uh, not really sure how assuring that really is--guess it's a perk of living in my neighborhood) and instructed me to stay in the house.

Then, I called my parents. And now that I think about it I'm not sure why, except I was shaking so bad and the big lump in my throat begged me to call Mom and Dad. They happen to be expert worriers, also. There's something about the ability to get as many people to worry with you as possible that makes any situation much less lonely. My dad answered and I told him the shocking story.

My mom said, "Come over here and sleep tonight" to which I responded,

"I am NOT leaving the house for ANYTHING right now"

Then she said, "Okay well then I'll come over there".

"Mother! There are a couple of psychotic trigger happy people on the loose right now in my neighborhood, do you really think that's a good idea?"

My dad dusted off his scanner and started searching for the police station. I once had a police officer (who was assigned to my neck of the woods) advise that I never listen to a police scanner as long as I live in this area. Comforting isn't it? There's just something about the not knowing that makes life a lot more peaceful. My mom and dad stayed up until 3 am listening to the police chase. They chased the offenders by car, and then by foot, and through people's yards. My parents called me with the updates. Now, that's love.

I called and left a message on David's cell phone and called and woke up Kristie. Sometimes it really sucks living alone. Then, there was a knock at my door. I figured it was either the cops following up on my 9-1-1 call or my neighbor. It was my neighbor, Ann, coming to see if I was all right. She saw how bad I was shaking and promptly dragged me upstairs to her house. We crawled into her bed and talked for about 45 minutes or so, until I had stopped shaking. I realized how stupid it was that this friendship I had wanted to have with my neighbor had to be kick started by a drive-by shooting.

It took awhile to fall asleep that night, but I did. Every car that I heard drive by made me hold my breath. I awoke the next morning to David calling to make sure I was all right after listening to my I'm-so-scared-I-can't-get-off-the-floor-and-I'm-about-to-cry message. Then I went out into the backyard in search of visual confirmation to support my auditory nightmare. I must have gone outside 5 or 6 times looking for bullets of bullet holes and could not find ANYTHING! Oh, so disappointing. And you know the most pathetic part? All I can think of is "I've got to find a bullet or a bullet hole so I have a picture to post on my blog along with this story." Yes, Jimmy and Katie, I'm SO blogging that.

To read more about what went down that night, check out the articles from the Press Democrat about the incident: Article #1 Article #2

Thank you, God, for protecting me and those on my street. Give my angels a raise, will ya?