The Chase

car crash

When I was a kid, we lived just a few streets over from where the Mr. and I live now.  It’s kinda neat being back in the old neighborhood but things seemed so much bigger then.

Like the giant hill that Todd Manuel pushed me down in the first grade.   At the time, it seemed like I rolled down a mountain!

And Hiawatha, the busy street we were forbidden from riding our bikes on, but which Marti did anyway.  It doesn’t seem so busy any more.

But it’s a good thing I told on her though or else I wouldn’t have found out that she was actually riding on Chickasaw which was a parent-approved street.

Of course, Marti thinks I told on her because I was too young to read the street signs but I have a feeling it’s more because I was (WAS) a lie-ball.

Anyway, we have a lot of good memories growing up on our little dead-end street.  But one memory sticks out in my mind because it was just so bizarre.

It was the night that Molly got dragged out of bed by the police.

Let me start at the beginning:

It was a typical Wednesday night.  We were all in bed but I had woken up for some unknown reason.  Marti and I each had bedrooms in the basement so I started to go upstairs when I saw a light go by the kitchen window.  There was clearly someone outside of our house with a flashlight.

Now the only thing I’m really afraid of is EVERYTHING!!!!  So this put me in a tizzy! I ran to Marti’s room to wake her up.  She’s much braver than me, which by the way is fairly easy, but this freaked her out a little too.

Our problem was that the only way to get to Dad was to go upstairs, through the kitchen where we saw the flashlight and then through the living room with its big ole window.

Not gonna happen!!

So we decided that since Marti’s room was directly beneath Mom & Dad’s room, we would just beat on the ceiling until they woke up.  We grabbed a broom and started pounding away.

Nothing.

No reaction whatsoever.

These two were dead to the world.

How could they sleep at a time like this????

Then we had an idea.

Way back in the day, there was a way to call your own house with your own house phone.  I can’t remember now how we did it but we were going to give it a try.  But before we could get it figured out, the phone rang.

Now if I had been a little older and a little more worldly, I would NEVER have answered that phone.  Every horror movie ever made has one of these ominous phone calls.  DON’T PICK UP THE PHONE!!

But I went for it.

And so did Mom.

What transpired in that phone call was the most hysterical phone moment of my life.  Mom was so totally out of it and could not process what the caller was saying.  She just kept saying “Ed…..Ed……..”

Ed is my dad by the way.

So who was the caller??

The POLICE!!

Apparently they had been outside trying to wake us up for quite a while and then had the dispatcher call the house.  The nice policeman was telling Mom to go to the door and let the police in.  All he got in return was “Ed…..Ed………”

In the meantime, Dad had gotten up and gone to the front door.  As soon as we could stop laughing at Mom’s phone call, Marti and I hightailed it upstairs to see why in this world the police would be at our house in the middle of the night.

But first I must clarify.

By “middle of the night” I really mean about 11:00.

What can I say???  We’re tired people!!

So Dad goes to the door and there are polices and cop cars everywhere with lights just a flashin’!  There was also a strange car parked next to our tree out front.

And there stands Dad in his pants and t-shirt with no shoes.  That’s when my dear mother goes to the bedroom and brings him some slippers.

One of his and one of hers!!!  🙂

Bless her heart, she’s not so good in the pre-middle of the night!

When Dad got to the door, the police asked if he had a blonde-headed daughter.

Why, yes he does.

They want to know if she’s been home all night.

No, the family had all been to church earlier in the night.

{Come on, Mr. Policeman, it’s Wednesday night, for crying out loud. }

The police want to see her.

{It’s never good to say for crying out loud to the polices.}

Dad explained that she’s asleep.

Now at this point I cannot believe that ANYONE could possibly be asleep but sure enough, Molly and Marc were both snoozin’ away!

The police insisted that they needed to see Molly.

Again, Mom stepped up to the plate.

She goes into Molly’s room, gently shakes her and says “Molly, the police want to talk to you”.

What a way to wake up!!!

Now Molly is in a panic.

Not because of the police, mind you, but because of her current state of being.  See, back in the good ole days, Molly would roll her hair at night on big ole pink sponge rollers.  Not only that but she has the most porcelain skin of anybody I know so she lotions it just like her Me-maw, which is to say that her face is so slick she can hardly keep it on the pillow.

So when Mom announces that she has been summoned by the police, she starts ripping out those curlers as fast as she can and trying to wipe that oil slick off her face at the same time.

Now the police think that things are taking too long and are starting to get antsy.  But when Molly finally appears at the door it becomes quite obvious that this girl hasn’t been out in a WHILE!!

About that time our neighbor, Mr. Fortune, calls out “There she is!”  He’s pointing across the street to another neighbor’s house so all the police go running after this girl.

Apparently, this blonde girl (who we still see around town) was driving drunk and when the police tried to pull her over, she led them on a chase through our neighborhood, driving through several yards, plowing down a big hedge row.  She then made the mistake of turning up our street.  When she got to the top of the hill in front of our house and realized that it was a dead-end, she smashed into the tree and hopped out of her car.  She was hiding behind our neighbor’s house.

They got her and hauled her off to jail.

And there we stood.

PJ clad.

Dad with his one slipper.

Molly with her unrolled-Phyllis-Diller hair and no makeup.

And where was Marc???

Fast asleep.

He misses all the good stuff.

~Mish~

 

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