Straw Broom

Halfway between my house and the paved road, where sat two mailboxes, was a mobile home, trailer house. The residents are what I saw to be a sweet, Christian family: dad, mom and a teenage girl. The teenager attended a church school and her mother drove her both ways, every day.

To digress a moment, I looked forward every time I came home after dark to passing their place. The trailer sits parallel to the drive. The teen's bedroom was inside the far left window. The blinds would be closed between the window and sheers. The bright ceiling lamp illuminated the window. When the teen would hear me coming up the drive, she would hurry to the window, barely spread the blinds for, I guess, the excitement of the evening. Ha. It never dawned on the young lady that her shadow on the blinds betrayed her attempt to not be noticed. I always watched for the silhouette and beamed a big smile. I just didn't have the heart to tell her, save her the embarrassment. Maybe you got a grin outta this, too.

One sunny afternoon, reading a letter from my dad while walking back up the hill to the house, the mother and daughter drove past, coming in from school. There were two big smiles and waves. All is well, I thought. They weren't indoors a minute when I heard ... Oh my!

Years earlier, I had the distinction of renting a trailer in a trailer park for three weeks while looking for a permanent house. Turns out, the neighbor gal was a cute, little waitress at Golden Corral. "Well, lookie here! How are you doing?" Her husband was a regular muscle man. He had those you see on magazine covers. And, I think he wanted to be Samson. He had long, wavy blonde locks! Quite the piece of eye-candy for the ladies, I suppose, especially with the jaded features of that perfect face.

My third night there, I heard sickening sounds. Loud bumps and scrapes emanated from the paneling lined, metal box. And again the next night, and the next. Oh boy! What do I do? There are too many warnings about getting involved in domestic issues. But, oh my! Something needs to be done.

On returning from the convenience store with a 2-litre soda and a bag of chips and cheese curls, I knocked on their door. It went quiet. A minute or so later, she opened the door and gave me a nice smile. Inside, we sat at the dining table, making small talk. She knew why I was there, playing the new neighbor thing. He was hiding in the bedroom or somewhere, never to show himself. What? Was he wearing bruises? No, not from this petite girl. On leaving, "I'm just next door if you ever need anything."

That story is how I learned the sounds of domestic horror.

Barely inside, there came the same horrible sounds I'd heard before. What now?! If I wasn't hearing it, I'd never believe that mother did such to her daughter. Not only were there the sounds of bumping, banging, there was yelling. Both of them. Indiscernible screaming. I was wishing I didn't have to pass. I didn't even want to know this about the family. With my nose pointed at dad's letter, each step seemed to take longer than the previous.

As I was opposite the trailer, the door flew open and the teen ran out onto the trailer-long well-built porch. She was clutching a ceiling to floor length curtain and screaming wildly. Mom came out behind her, yelling and swinging a kitchen broom. How do I not notice this? Eye witness? Is that what I am now?

Just then, a large, blue-tailed skinx lizard escaped the curtain and zipped along the 2x6 handrail. The mom ran past her teen, swinging the broom at the frightened reptile. What a hoot!

A couple hours later, after the dad was home, I visited them. We all laughed at the story and talked about how grave it is when people judge things without the facts. It was a perfect example of Proverbs 18:13.

I can still see those two running out onto the porch and the long curtain.