I had the strong feeling that something was wrong this morning, and it caused me to hide in bed til nearly ten when I wasn't even tired, just because staying in my bed in my still half-dark room seemed so much easier than facing whatever was going on out there. Or in here--I didn't know what was wrong. I just felt it--I had The Fear. I warned Mark immediately that something strange was afoot, but he reassured me I looked pretty. Antsy, I went down to S. Austin for coffee with Momma Christie, returning a few hours later to a police standoff, which is still going on about two blocks from my house.
Nothing brings the neighborhood together like a good ole standoff. The skater kids from a few doors down, the weird lady next door, a bunch of old people I've never seen and people who drove to the neighborhood to sit in their cars with binoculars, cameras, and cigarettes gathered together to express their ignorance as to what was going on. Some guy in a duplex, he has a hostage, the whole Ross parking lot is covered with police cars, and did you hear that tear gas they shot in there? They must have done that about seven or eight times, the pops making us jump and wonder if it was the inevitable gun fire we'd hear at some point. It was an exciting Sunday afternoon on Ashdale. It had the same aura as a small town football game, or possibly a public execution. I can hear the negotiator's voice, sounding like a parade announcer through a megaphone--"We know you are there and we are not leaving. Put down your gun and pick up the phone." Borrowing some binoculars, I could see SWAT guys crouched around the fence, the house itself hidden. The conversation turned to the safety of the neighborhood with some older folks who still had on their Sunday best, chatting together in the driveway. We expressed disbelief when a young blond blew past the cop car, driving right into the fire zone, and snickered together when the stern and mustached seargant, after yelling and chasing her down, told her angrily to turn around and get out of here, and sniggered more as the dumb bitch nervously executed a 48 point turn to correct herself.
I went back inside. I no longer hear the negotiator. I don't see any movement, and I felt sad at the spectacle of the whole situation. I felt bad for the guy, or girl, or whatever, who really knows...what did they feel like when they woke up this morning? How would it end? What made it come to this? I'll let you know when I find out. I suppose I am out of reasons for not doing homework now.
