It all started last summer. The house next door sold, and we were so excited that the new neighbors had kids in elementary school, and BONUS!! They even had a son JDude’s age!! Met the grown-ups, all the usual “Welcome to the Neighborhood” blah blah. What nice people.
The phone call came when I was on vacation a few weeks later. Now, to be fair, it was a phone call I had initiated. A pregnant stray cat had adopted us, I didn’t have internet access, so I called a few of my “cat friends” to find out the basics of feline gestation and kitten midwifery. (Ahh, I have so many talents… but I digress… ) After getting the scoop, Deb paused and asked me “So, do you want the latest gossip?” Always game, I bit. “Of course, tell all!!”
“Your new neighbor… is a convicted sex offender.”
I remember gasping, clapping my hand over my mouth. “What??! What??! Tell me what you know!!” Deb rattled along with the story. How our former neighbor, a realtor, received an alert that an individual on the Commonwealth’s Sexual Predator list had moved onto our street. How she went down to the courthouse and requested to read the docket. How he had been charged twice, once on the West Coast and again, here on the East Coast. How the victims were pre-teen girls. His neices. From opposite sides of the family. How the victim didn’t testify in California, but the Navy kicked him out anyway. How he was caught by the victim’s mother in the incident out here in Virginia. She followed him into the house and caught him with her daughter, trapped in a desk chair, while this male relative attempted to fondle her. So, so vile and disgusting. He was convicted in this case, serving 99 years of probation.
I was sick, just sick. We had a great neighborhood, wonderful neighbors who we were fortunate enough to call friends. We had annual Fourth of July parties, Christmas parties, and many, many spontaneous dinners, cookouts, and driveway lawn chair assemblies. As neighbors, we had raised children together, celebrated births, baked condolence filled casseroles, even vacationed together. How was this going to work in our neighborhood?
When I returned home from vacation, I had found an enormous email chain nested in my inbox. Everyone had their opinions, primarily discussing what they would share with their children, some even determined that their kids would not share the classroom with The Molester’s Children. Our decision was to tell JDude the truth about the new neighbors. We explained to him that The Dad Next Door Had Been Convicted of A Crime. That he could play with his new friend, but he could NEVER go into the house. As for me, I was determined to avoid any contact with The New People whatsoever.
But I kept running into her. I saw The Wife everywhere. At school functions at the elementary school, at middle school orientation, pulling into the driveway after work. She seemed … nice. I wondered about her. WHY would she stay with HIM?? Why subject her children to the whispers that surely followed them? And worst of all, she had a beautiful daughter younger than JDude. I knew, from the bottom of my heart, that I couldn’t take that gamble. I couldn’t risk that one day he would do the same thing to my innocent, beautiful daughter that he had done to her cousins.
The kids rode the bus together and they would play basketball in my driveway. JDude and his friends would jump on their trampoline. I could tell that their little girl had a huge Little Girl Crush on JDude. She was absolutely adorable, ringing the bell, full of first grade authority, “Can he come out and play basketball with me??” The Wife and I made small talk whenever we saw one another, just about the kids, the weather, yadda, yadda, yadda.
When I got home today, JDude was with their son in our driveway. I could tell the minute I pulled up that “Danny” was upset. “What’s up, dudes?” I asked. “He’s locked out of the house! He can’t find his key!” JDude volunteered and Danny chimed in, “Yeah, and my sister is doing her ballet all the way down in Chesapeake!!” So, into the house they came and I had Danny call his mom on my cell phone. Could he wait at my house until someone got home? Of course, he could. I’m not one for throwing sixth graders out on the street… well, sometimes… hahahahaha! So, they played video games, drank lemonade, until Danny’s mom came over. She thanked me over and over again, and it really wasn’t all that big a deal. I heard myself saying “We should really have each other’s phone numbers, just in case.” And she agreed.
Her cell number is now stored in my phone, I suppose mine is in hers, as well. It seemed so cut and dried at the outset. Sex Offender = Bad. Simple. But, do those kids get labeled too? Does she? It’s just not in me to judge without knowing first hand. I didn’t read the docket. I haven’t lived in that home. What if she needs someone to trust? What if (God forbid) she needs a way to escape? I know I sound oh-so-dramatic here, but work with me. What if those kids need someone to trust? The truth is, nothing is ever as simple as it seems. Nothing.
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