So, Mel ended up taking me home to get a spare car key. I called Oscar to tell him he’d have to open the house gate for me, but he didn’t totally understand. He opened the gate, we came in, and he was waiting there.
“Where were you, E?”
“Oscar, I was robbed.”
“Robbed? You robbed?”
“Yes, yes, men with guns came to the exercise place and took all our money and jewelry and locked us up.... and.. and... I’m sorry I’m so late, Oscar!” And I burst into tears.
“Oh, oh, oh, no, no! This is not good. They try to kill my Madam! Ag, no! Aw!” He gave me a big hug, patted my shoulder. “Aw, no!”
Aw, man. So much NOT fun, we’re having here.
I stood up straighter then, explained I needed to go back to get the car, make a police statement and so Mel and I went back to the studio.
Mel is just great, wonderful, reassuring. As I ride back to the club, I look down, and see a billyclub tucked in beside the seat. I need one of those. Yes, I do. Shopping project for tomorrow, yeah?
We come back into the studio, and I sit down in the kitchen to give a statement to the police. Handwritten. I talk too fast for him to write it down. “Stop, please. Your name again?” Confusion about the value of the bracelets that were stolen -- one bought in euros, the other in dollars. I guess the value, then try to convert. Ever do currency exchange rates in your head after being held up at gunpoint? It’s startlingly difficult to think. Could hardly remember my passport number, phone number, or... sh--, man, my name, even. After three pages of writing, we’re done, and I sign my name on the bottom of the papers.
“Call to get your case number, later today.”
Right. I will.
I say my goodbyes, reassuring everyone that, yes, I will come to the trauma counseling session tomorrow morning at 8:30am, and I go out to my Mini convertible, to drive it home. Put the key in the lock and the alarm goes off. Oh great. Now I will drive my car home, and get SHOT BY THE POLICE on the way there because they think I’m stealing my own car. God. What else?
I call Fred, at Mr D's workplace, the man who knows all, arranges all, to get the phone number of the Mini dealer, so I can ask what to do. The afternoon is spent canceling my car’s computerized key, arranging for the house to be re-keyed (the other key on my missing key ring), and stopping by the office, just to reassure Fred that I’m still alive and kicking. Poor thing. That would be bad, to have the country manager’s wife shot dead on a Monday morning. Hard to find a replacement for a country manager, after that kind of thing.
So, next up, tomorrow’s trauma counseling session. But meanwhile, what do we learn?
First, about writing. (And thanks to all who wrote to me yesterday and today!)
Cliffhangers are great, but when it’s non-fiction (i.e. reality.), not so good. So I promise, no more cliff hangers. Even tho in a way, the whole experience FOR ME was a cliffhanger. Do I get to finish my own life? But no, I won’t do that again. All you guys are traumatized too, now.
Relax. It’s all fine.
And the second thing.
I texted a friend of mine, saying, “Y’know, in my stupid American way, I was brought up 2 believe evry1 is good, nice.Why is this so wrong?My whole life must be different now. I want my old life back. Devastating to lose yr illusions. 2day was so horrible.”
And the response back said, “Yeah, right... ‘everyone is good’... that’s not even true in fairy tales!”
So, so true. So true. Everyone isn’t good. I better learn quick.