The Barren WidowLate one night the neighbor knocked on the front door and asked, “Can I sleep at your house tonight?”
“Sure,” I told him, and I let the six-year-old boy in the house. He immediately bolted to Johnny’s room, where their mischievous laughter would soon float from. I look back and look at the room they’re playing in and smile. The thought of the children being happy and playing together brings joy to my heart I close the front door and sigh. I’ve got a pretty good life. A house, a car, a wonderful husband, two great kids, and shoes on my feet. Sounds like a great life to me. I don’t think I could ask for anything better than this. Another knock sounds on the door, and I turn around to open it up. The ten-year-old neighbor girl from right down the street stands on my front porch, staring back at me. “Hey, Angelica,” I greet her. “Hi, Mrs. Roseberry. Is it alright if I come over and play with Jane?” “Sure, and if you want, you can call your mom and ask to spend the night, too.” Angelica is the sweet girl a couple houses over. Angelica and Jane have always hung out together. In fact, they have always been best friends, since they were in diapers. “Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Roseberry.” And she runs off to tell Jane the good news. Everything is right, the way it’s supposed to be. The kids playing, the husband at work, and me staying at home, just being a mom. I sit down on the couch and turn the tv on. It’s 6 o’clock on a Thursday night. Something decent should be on. I sit through an episode of the latest family show, The Grady’s Group, and watch well into the second show. Then out of nowhere, I hear sirens, more than one. I turn off the tv and get up to look out the window. Two police cars come flying down the street and pull in front of the Marahari’s, Angelica’s, house. I silently wonder to myself what’s going on. I take a deep breath, think about it for a moment, and come to the conclusion it’s probably best to keep Angelica here for the time being. Either her parents will come get her if they want her or I’ll run her over there when the ordeal looks to be almost over. I stare out the window, trying to figure out what happened. I try to pull possibilities in my mind of what could’ve gone down to bring the cops to the house. No later than ten minutes afterwards, another cop car comes racing down the street. This time it pulls in front of the Pierce’s house. “That Timmy’s house!” I gasp. I look back at the bedrooms that the kids are playing in and wonder why police are at the houses of the two kids that are over to play. Is it just a coincidence that cops are at the houses of the only two kids that ever come over to play? Or is there something else going? If it’s not a coincidence, what could it be? A second later I get my answer. The police pound at my door, yelling, “POLICE! OPEN UP! MARY ROSEBERRY, OPEN THE DOOR! POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!” Startled, I stumble to the door and turn the knob, halfway falling into the doorway. Seven police officers rush into my house, about knocking me over. Before I can fall all the way to the ground, the youngest and thinnest police officer catches me. I turn around to thank him for his gentlemanly manners, but before I get a word out I see that he’s handcuffing me. I struggle, trying to break free from his fierce grip. I try to rip my arm out of his strong hands just to slap him. “This is no way to treat a lady!” I yell at him. He continues tightening the handcuffs as if he had never heard me. My body tension soon releases as I come to the conclusion that there isn’t a reason to be so stressed. I haven’t done anything wrong, so what’s going on? And why are the police in my house? Why is this officer handcuffing me? I scream and shout, calling for help, for an explanation, but all of them just ignore me. The officer behind me jerks me back slightly, as if he’s trying to shut me up, but it doesn’t work. I carry on some more. I just want someone to tell me what’s happening. I watch as they carry all four of the children out of my house. I scream and try to reach for my children, but the policeman thrusts me back, further away from them. I holler, reaching my arms out, trying to get a grasp even just a collar on one of their shirts to I can pull them back into me. I need them. I need my children. “MY BABIES!” I shriek in agony as they take my children away. Paramedics wrap them in blankets and take their vitals as soon as their feet touch the ground. I cry out that they’re okay and I would never hurt them, but the paramedics continue doing the same thing. Then the worst thing happens. I watch as the Pierce couple, in my front lawn, cry as they hug Timmy. They look up and give me a dirty look. What was that for? I should be the one giving them a dirty look. Look at them! Crying and holding my child and they have the nerve to give me a dirty look?! A couple running down the street frantically interrupts my exasperating train of thought. Tears streaming from their eyes, they rush to my property. They search the yard, like their lives depend on finding something. They find what they were looking for and run towards it like a dog runs to an owner after a long time apart. I realize what they were looking for when they bear hug Jane and Johnny. My top lip forms into a snarl as I watch their arms surrounding my children. The couple tuck the childrens into their chests and rest their head upon the kids heads. They smell and kiss my children's’ heads, hair, and faces. My face contorts into a bigger snarl, and little do I realize that I’m growling out loud, too. What are they doing?!?! Those are MY children!!! I should be comforting them! They’d better get off my children or I’m gonna come after them, and they’ll pay for touching MY children! I scream at the couple hugging and kissing my children as the policeman tugs me away. I struggle against his clasp. If only I could get past him and go get my children back. If I got them back, I would make sure that I never, ever lost them again. No one would ever get to them. “LET ME SEE MY KIDS!!!” I shout and scream, hoping and praying someone, anyone, would listen to me this time. The officer begins to duck my head in the police car as he reads me my rights, “Mary Roseberry, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of four children, and...” His voice drowns out as I smile. I’ll get my children back one day. All four of them. Just they wait and see. Then they’ll regret it. I’ll make them regret taking my babies away. |