Adventure Indeed

As soon as I started bemoaning the fact that nothing truly exciting ever happens in my life, especially while living at home in a small, rural town, near disaster struck. This is the scenario: My mom and dad had gone to the walking track to get in some exercise, and I was jogging around the neighborhood. My younger brother Mark was home alone. I had a terrible run. I quit several miles short my normal routine and decided to head home. This ended up being quite providential. As I was approaching my house, I saw someone in the side driveway at the door, and I thought it was the father of one of Mark’s friends. Mark doesn’t even answer the door when someone else is home with him, so I figured there is no way he would answer it when he is home by himself. I started hurrying down the street to tell the man that no one was home, but as it so happened, Mark had been walking by the glass door when the man knocked and, therefore, had to open the door. When I approached, the man, who was NOT someone we knew, was talking to Mark about trying to get a hold of a minister. The man was an older black man (age undeterminable—anywhere from 45 to 65), approximately five feet eleven inches tall, wearing a somewhat dirty white shirt and a blue cap, and driving a gold car. (Yes, Mark and I could probably have put together a pretty good police report.) I explained to the man that my dad was out walking. The man sounded incredulous. “Walking?!?” he said. “Yes, you know, for exercise,” I replied. I offered to take his name and number and have my dad call him back when he returned. The man seemed hesitant, but told me his name was Charles. He gave me a number, sans area code, and when I asked what the area code was, he again seemed uncertain, and then gave me an out of town area code. I asked Charles if he needed to speak to my dad about anything in particular, and he responded, “It’s about me! Charles!” I think I just said okay and reconfirmed that I would have Dad call him. After that, Charles left.

I was getting ready to do an exercise video to punish myself for having such a bad run when I heard someone knock on the side door again. I went to look through the living room window to see who it might be, and who should be pounding on our door but our new friend Charles. Mark started to walk through so I told him not to answer the door. While looking out the window was not a bad idea per se, it also put us in the absolute worst place in our house to hide from a door-banging madman. After pounding the door and ringing the doorbell incessantly on the side door, Charles walked around to the front and proceeded to do the same there. Mark and I were hunkered down behind the love seat trying desperately not to be spotted through one of the room’s many windows. When we heard the man return to the side door again, we darted upstairs to spy through the blinds on the second floor. Charles was probably there for ten minutes in all, just pounding, ringing, and yelling. Then he left. A few minutes later—you guessed it—he came back for a third time. This time Mark saw him pull in to the driveway so we managed to get upstairs before he started pounding. He kept yelling, “Oh come on!” seeing as how he was fairly certain we were inside. I tried calling a family friend to come over and check on things, but no one answered, and Mom and Dad couldn’t be raised on their mobiles either, so I just settled for writing down Charles's license plate number. Fortunately, Charles gave up much sooner this time. As soon as he pulled out of the driveway, Mark, being the brave young high school student that he is, and I, being the responsible older sister that I am, did the only thing we could think to do: we got in my car and got out of there as quickly as possible. We drove to the walking track and just sat outside waiting for my parents to finish. That’s right. We ran scared. I’m pretty sure half of the town drove past the walking track while Mark and I were just sitting there looking pathetic and awkward. We didn’t care. When Dad finally got in contact with Charles later that evening, Charles told him that he just found a job for a few hours and then left town. Quite dodgy, really, but at least he left. The excitement was over, and we got to have dinner at the Crazy Cone while Dad went home to see if Charles would come back, so the evening wasn’t a total waste. Thus, even while accepting my position as a member of the boomerang generation by living at home with my family, adventure still knocked—quite literally—at my door. It would appear that Sister Good's adventures aren't over after all.