It's been four months since we moved to our house on Tropaco Point. A place of windsong and birdsong with dynamic cross breezes between the Atlantic and Hull Bay. I have been lulled by subtleties and enriched with the ever changing vibrancies of day/night, morning/dusk, hot/hotter, sunshine/rain. Every day brings a buffet of wonders : the variety of aloe plants- their shades of green, their spikes, their spots; the petals of the bougainvillae cheering from peach to dusty rose to magenta; the tropical birds that mingle and delight in each other's company- petite and delicate like the hummingbird to robust and expansive like the pelicans and frigates. Each morning I wake to blessings such as these and nurture my awe as I pay attention to these ever-giving majesties, homing both inward and outward with my curious senses.
St. Thomas is the "big island" or "the city" of the Virgin Islands. Everything that comes into the islands in this region comes through the port of Charlotte Amelie. People of many nationalities, races, heritages, and incomes are scattered in the different neighborhoods between Red Hook and Botany Bay (the east and west of the Rock). Hull Bay, where we live, is on the northern side of the island. It's removed from the hubbub of the downtown on the Southside and the action on the Eastside- and the Westside, well it is even more removed than we are, think back country. So, while we are definitely in a neighborhood, sometimes it doesn't feel like it (depending on where you look).
Our house sits at the end of the road with houses scattered before and beyond it. We can sometimes hear the beach parties at night (depending on which way the wind's blowing) and the house looks out to the vast Atlantic towards the north as well as the neighborhoods of Bonne Resolution, Suicide Hill and Dorothea of the south. The evening's dim glow of yellow house lights give the hillside character and dimensions with an opposing "other side" of a blank slate of ocean. One of the reasons we liked our house so much was because we couldn't see or hear the activity of our closer neighbors (something we wanted after living in the thick of our CT neighborhood!), but it wasn't until a few days ago that this comforting feeling of our somewhat solitude was challenged, when our/my feelings of home and security faltered.
I've lived with Dave since I was 21. He is has always been a hyper-aware and reliable source of protection and comfort- whether we were living downtown on Centre Street in NYC or in the outskirts of Nice, France, the 70 acre farm in bumfuck Maine or rural Wilton, coastal Connecticut or here on the shore of a tropical island. He's a prepper by nature with dehydrated pouches of food in our storage unit. A pilot who would rather fly and crash land the plane then rely someone else to do it. He has his pistol permit and tends to research crime statistics on a regular basis. He has always made me feel safe and I have relied on him to do the dirty work were it to ever come to a dirty situation. On the other hand, my defense abilities consist of some jiu jitsu moves, a shrill voice (which I am not sure I'd be able to access if I needed it), 3 dogs who love me to the end and a strong belief in a worldly benevolence.
Last week the day came, or night that is, with Dave, Elsa and Harry gone when said defenses were begged into action. I woke to Hugh telling me at 11:35pm that there was a car running outside his window. We didn't call the cops. I honestly didn't think they would come after hearing a few stories about the questionable role that they play here. Instead, I texted Dave, who thankfully was awake in his hotel room in North Carolina. (Why I didn't call him boggles me now. I think it had to do with the hope that if I didn't verbally reach beyond the bubble of what Hugh and I were experiencing in that moment, we were still safe in a subtle dream of weirdness.) In a daze and trying to stay in my body and not escape from it, Hugh and I turned on all of the lights and I wrote to Dave, "What's the Ring camera log in?... There's a car outside Hugh's window and I want to try and see it through the camera." He looked at his Ring app and said he didn't see anything. Then he walked me through the passwords for the already installed app on my phone and then instructed me to grab Beau (our 100lb dog with the biggest teeth our vet has ever seen) and a flashlight. Then I called him.
Hugh and I saw head lights at the base of our driveway. There was someone down there and darkness on all of the other sides of our exposed house. This is when it all became more real and more like a movie at the same time. Plan B. Dave said to get the flashlight and then his pistol from the lockbox under the bed. (I knew he had a gun, with a permit and a lock box- but I hadn't seen where he had put it after it came down in our container from CT. I don't like guns. Their sound, smell and kickback make me hollow, but I have never told Dave to get rid of it. I trust Dave with a gun. It doesn't make him manly or sexy or invincible- but I know he knows how to use it and I know that he never wants to use it.) So there I was stunned and attentive, with my shirtless17 year old son in our second story bedroom, as I listened to Dave's instructions. Leave our rbedoom and walk down the stairs, go through the courtyard to the dark driveway, grab the car keys that I'd carelessly left on the dashboard previously that evening while carrying a flashlight and the gun. I did everything but specifically carry the gun. Rather, I carried the open lock box with the unloaded gun and cartridge and with each step I told myself that I could load it, if I had to. Between the two choices of trying to shoot the gun at a trespasser or being the victim of a crime I couldn't predict, going through the motions of what Dave said I should do was all I could do.
When I got to the stairs above the driveway, I shined the flashlight and saw a quiet and vacant SUV. I couldn't see anyone or hear any human sounds. I put the lock box and flashlight down and dashed to my Jeep, grabbing the keys and probably holding my breath. Then ran up the stairs, scooped up the lockbox and flashlight and sprinted back up to my room where Hugh was waiting and watching. When I got back to the room we saw the vehicle's white headlights turn on and its red taillights backing up a few feet into our driveway, then the turning towards our road's entrance, back from where he came. And there we were- Hugh, me, the dogs. (With the gift of hindsight and humor, I realize now that I was the dumb blond in the scary movie, alone and naive, who walks towards the creepy closet where weird noises are coming from while the theater audience is either laughing at her stupidity, covering their eyes, or yelling at her to turn around and run!)
Unharmed. Shaken. Stirred. A survived test run. The realization that there is no Superman, with your kid watching. Our world didn't break, but there was a fracturing. I was angry. At myself (I didn't know what to do). At Dave (he wasn't there). At myself (why did I need Dave?). At our house (why are there no locks on our doors?). At St. Thomas (cultures, customs, expectations that I have yet to understand). At myself (naive and trusting). At myself (how is this going to impact Hugh?).
I did find sleep that night and Hugh slept next to me after failing to fall asleep in his room. My dreams replayed the incident trying to rewire pathways in my frazzled brain. Muted, sweaty, inert, exposed, vulnerable. Too trusting. Stupid. Careless... benevolence?
When I woke to the sunrise the next morning, I did what I usually do. I went to my rock, the dogs followed, and I sat in the stillness of the morning with an overactive mind. Somehow I managed to meet the stillness and note the tensions running through my body, not following them, but aware of the friction. Loose jaw, heavy seat, inhale, tall spine, prayered palms, exhale... repeat. In my body. Aware. Tender. Alive. After sitting, I wrote out my gratitudes and in their chain of flow I found the one thing that was able to help me shed the gripping of my tight heart. Forgiveness. There she was, unlike anything I had ever known. For myself (I did my best). For Dave (he did his best). For me (it wasn't my fault). For Dave (it wasn't his fault). For the house (she can still be a sanctuary). For St. Thomas (she has a lot to teach me). For believing in benevolence. For friends I could reach out to and who would house me and Hugh until Dave got home. For neighbors who would have come if I'd only called. For the cops who would have come and shined a light onto the property. For the possibly petty thieves/hooligans who may have been trying to steal the motor off the dinghy at the base of our driveway or were just trying to smoke a joint out on the point beyond our house... but didn't harm us.
Now, I know more. I have a plan if I feel vulnerable in our house again. I have a course of action. I have things to learn. I will continue to practice trust and believing in universal goodness. I will keep asking Hugh how he is doing and recovering from our scary night together. I will remember the feelings of helplessness and fear and I will continue to choose the power of forgiveness.
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