Amazing People

Seinfeld was wrong. People aren’t the worst. Thieves are the worst. MY people are the best.

In the week and a half since Arielle set up a GoFundMe site so I could replace what was stolen from my home on August 24, an amazing number of friends and a stranger or two have donated money. The largess of some was unexpected. One donor whom I know wants to remain anonymous gave me a replacement for a stolen item. Just like that. No fuss or muss, and in fact the gift is brand new and of better quality and usefulness than was the stolen original. Other people donated even as I know they are in no better financial straits than I am. A close friend sent in an amount that made me blink. It’s been amazing.

It’s been strange as well. My Bose radio was taken. It was an older model with a CD player, and I didn’t even notice it was gone until I went to turn on some music and… It wasn’t there. Yesterday I decided to replace it.

I went to eBay. There were about fifty Bose radios like mine, with prices varying from the cheap to the not-so-cheap. I had identified the one I wanted and was about to hit the Buy It Now button when it struck me that this could actually be MY radio. EBay, let’s face it, is the world’s biggest fence through no fault of its own. The notion that I might, just might, be purchasing my own radio back was enough to stop me.

The strangeness of what was essentially a short-lived home invasion has not left me yet. I never sleep much, but I’m sleeping even less now. I wake up wide-eyed when the air-conditioning kicks in. On three separate occasions, I’ve been sure someone was in the house and, armed with a giant movie prop sword, I’ve gone to face the intruders. Not the smartest thing I could do, I know, but part of me really yearns to meet these thieves face-to-face. I figure the sight of a white-haired man in his BVDs brandishing an edged weapon would stop most people in their tracks, robbers included.

I still wonder why the prehistoric sharks’ teeth were stolen. And the knap sacks! They were freebies of no value whatsoever, though one had a bottle of coconut water and a granola bar in it. The back pack, now that really irks me. It had taken me years to find one I liked. Ditto for the bag that held my computer. I’d bought that used at a second-hand store shortly after Arielle and I got the new laptop from Micro Center. The bag was perfect. It was me. It also held a bunch of other stuff—notes for a short story, assorted pens and a mouse and mousepad, since I cannot master the trackpads. There was a thumb-drive with a copy of my latest novel, some twenty loose mints in case I’m famished during a meeting, a Moleskin notebook with quaint stuff written in it, and a tube of mosquito repellent. I don’t why that last item was there.

Today I went to the same second-hand place and purchased a new used computer briefcase. I also got a mouse, and I looked without success for a radio. I still haven’t heard from the police and suspect I never will. I’m still angry, but the generosity shown by my friends is helping heal the hurt.

Thank you, one and all, du fond de mon coeur, from the bottom of my heart.


About epiphanettes

Writer, songcrafter, possibly the best French pedal steel guitarist in Virginia.
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