It's a Saturday afternoon at my tiny house. Baby Sagittarius is napping and I look outside the window. There is a man walking towards our house from across the street. He's dripping with sweat and he sees me looking at him through our window. Mechanic hubby turns his head and sees what I'm seeing. "I wonder what he wants," Mechanic hubby says. As this man who is tall, about 6'3", slightly overweight, wearing old jeans and a bright red shirt with a backpack on, unshaven, with longer curly hair and piercing red eyes comes to our door and knocks, my heart sinks. Mechanic hubby walks to the door and opens it.
"Could I trouble you for some water?" He politely asks.
"Uh, sure. "
"Do you mind if I come in, it's pretty hot out," he says with a smile.
Mechanic hubby glances my way and I shake my head "no." But Mechanic hubby, believing fervently that all people are good, let's him in. This man follows my husband to the kitchen. I hear the cupboard open, the lid from the gallon jug of water pops off and as I walk to the kitchen, I see this monster of a man, with his arm held high above him, gripping a large barbecue brush, the kind that have that sharp metal scraper on one end, strike my husband in the back of the head while his back is turned to him. He falls instantly to the ground and a short steady stream starts to grow. This man bolts past me and runs outside the door. I'm scared and can't scream because I don't want to wake the baby. As I'm grabbing anything to apply pressure to the wound, I see the man come up to my kitchen window, take out a funsaver camera, waits for the flash light to go on and take a picture of the mess.
I wake up to find my husband out of bed. He's getting ready for work in the bathroom and I grab his pillow for what seemed like a really, really long time. Sometimes I don't mind being an insomniac.