The incident happened at around 8:30. Sparkle Girl and I were sitting at the kitchen table, happily noshing on leftover Mother's Day cake and ice cream, while the hubby relaxed on the couch, settling into a bowl of ice cream and a Joel Osteen program (it's his thing). Suddenly, the peace in our home was shattered by the sound of hard pounding on the front door, followed by a strange man bursting into our house. At first, I thought the man might be a former employee of my husband. Given our locale, finding reliable, somewhat normal people to work in the construction industry can be challenging. Over the years, we've had the pleasure of working with numerous half crazy people, and I live everyday with passing thoughts that one of them might come back here to rob us. South Florida is a transient state and lots of folks come here to escape from somewhere else. This makes the population interesting, to say the least.
Thankfully, my hubby sprang quickly into action, wrestling the man out of our house and securely locking the front door. He then proceeded to our neighbors' home to warn them of the danger, and he and D searched for the lunatic guy together. I phoned the police,who showed up soon afterward, but, aside from a panel of our fence which was snapped off when the invader vaulted himself over it to take off through our back yard, there was no evidence of where the guy had gone. At last glance, he was running shirtless through our neighbors' back yard. After that, he disappeared into the night like some crazed zombie.
My hubby and I have spoken often about living in South Florida. It's no secret to anyone within our circle of friends and acquaintances that I'm tired of being here. In fact, I've been tired of being here for several years. The absence of four seasons, the rude people, the crime and drugs, the sky high taxes, and the cost of living (which has been steadily increasing) all contribute to my feelings of impatience and restlessness. Last night's fiasco only solidified this unease. I grew up in a somewhat small New England town. The area where we lived boasted good schools, and safe, tree lined streets. It wasn't perfect, but when I return there I lament that we can't raise our child in an area similar to that. No child should have to go to bed in fear that someone might try to break through the door again. Our daughter was badly shaken last night, and I felt anger surge in my belly at the thought that we feel so stuck here due to my husband's company. South Florida is a whole world away from the type of town I was raised in. At times, it doesn't even feel like it's on the same planet.
The police on scene last night, along with some friends, have advised us that a drug called flakka has hit the streets; it's possible that last night's unwelcome guest had imbibed some of this garbage prior to his evening rampage. The narcotic creates feelings of paranoia, hallucinations, and super human strength; recently a man was apprehended running down the street naked but for a pair of tennis shoes. He told the police that he was running from the people who'd stolen his clothing, though there were no pursuers in evidence. Over the past year or so, the flavor of our neighborhood has been changing, partly due to the fact that a man purchased a home across the street and decided to rent rooms to anyone who would pay. His decision to use his home as a form of income has lead to all manner of unsavory characters visiting our neighborhood, including a drug dealer who showed up to make a delivery to one of the women who live there just a few days ago. The city of Hollywood has no ordinances which prohibit people from using their homes as hotels; the best one can hope is that the homeowner in question is conscientious about researching his/her renters. Apparently, the fellow who owns the flop house across the way isn't. Adding to this problem is that the demographic of Florida in general is such that sketchy neighborhoods and nice neighborhoods exist in close proximity to one another. Just up the road, there are apartments that host a constant flux of changing inhabitants. The people who live there use our street to cut through to a local supermarket. Some of them are just normal people, and some of them are not so nice. On at least one occasion, I've caught some of these folks in our yard, peering over our fence to get a look at what goods we have that they might like to steal.
I'm trying to start today feeling as positive as I can, but it's hard.
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