I live in the suburbs, the final battleground of the American dream, where people get married and have kids and try to scratch out a happy life for themselves. -Harlan Coben
My wife and I live in the suburbs. Yes, our house and neighborhood might conform to what people would call cookie cutter. Yes, beige is a predominant color in our neighborhood. Yes, our choice in restaurants and shopping is relatively limited to the same chains as every other cookie cutter suburb throughout the country. Yes, we have an abundance of SUV's and minivans driving cautiously through our streets as they look for young children on their bikes and scooter in prerequisite helmets. On the other hand, we also have some of the best schools in the state. We have more square footage for our money. We have well manicured lawns in the summer and pissing contests with Christmas lights in the winter. We have high achieving kids we are proud of, even if they drive golf carts recklessly, occasionally rearrange the letters on the signs in the neighborhood, and experiment with profanity at the park.
Unfortunately, last week the sh*t got real last week in our little slice of the 'burbs. For me, it was another Wednesday morning. I woke up hating the idea of going to work, showered, dressed, poured my coffee, grabbed my lunch, and slouched out the door. As I pulled up to the stop sign to the entrance to my neighborhood, I looked to my left to see a sheriff's deputy go flying by with no lights or sirens. My first thought was, "Asshole! Doesn't he know this is a residential neighborhood? Kids are walking to the bus stops, and God knows they aren't paying attention!" As I drove, the newon the radio talked about an officer involved shooting at a residence in Montgomery County. In my drowsiness, I didn't connect the shooting to the deputy's speeding car.
When I arrived at work, I received a text from my wife if I knew anything about the shooting in our neighborhood. I didn't, but turned to the internet for answers. I browsed the websites for the local network news stations and found what I was looking for. Just a few blocks away, while we were all snuggled soundly in our beds, one of our local residents stabbed his wife to death. Deputies arrived and found his 11 year old son at the front door covered in his mother's blood. The father was found in the bedroom and was shot to death after lunging at deputies after refusing their orders to drop the knife.
In that instant, our idyllic lives were shattered. We had gone from silently cursing our neighbors for not brining in their trashcans to worrying about what was going on behind their closed doors. The street that had at one time been filled with mothers pushing infants in strollers and children taking advantage of incline to gain speed on skateboards was now clogged by police cars, news vans and curious onlookers. Reporters interviewed neighbors, family, and friends who all told of a dedicated father, loving mother, and shock and surprise that some one in our neighborhood was capable of such a horrific crime. This was the type of crime we heard about on the evening news and then made sure our doors were locked. Crimes like this were one of the reasons we chose a longer commute and dinner at Chili's.
The response of the community was amazing. GoFundMe pages were started, meals were cooked, collections taken, and some one even contacted the Buffalo Bills (the young boy played for the Bills in the local Pop Warner league). Flowers, balloons, candles, and stuffed animals were left in the yard as a make-shift memorial. On the neighborhood Facebook page, people rallied to help and offer their services, and to not make mention of the incident for fear that either the 11 year old or his brother might stumble upon them. Normally when I publish my blog, I post the link to that particular page, but this time, I will not. However, that won't keep my from asking just what the hell happened that night behind those closed doors?
As stated earlier, this is not something that is supposed to happen in upper middle class neighborhoods. This is something that is supposed to happen to crystal meth tweakers in trailer parks on the seedy part of town. Now it is a reality for many who would prefer it not be, and it must be addressed and talked about, the 800 pound gorilla so to speak. Why would a seemingly happy man kill his wife and then lunge with a knife toward heavily armed deputies (in Texas no less)?
This same man had earlier written an eight page letter to his sons detailing what was to be done with the house, the cars, and the money. It was as though he knew that night would be his last.
Were his acts rational? No, they were the acts of a person losing a battle within their own mind. A rational person doesn't kill his wife. Had the pain been bad enough that he wanted to end it for her as well as himself? Perhaps.Does a rational person lunge toward gun bearing police while holding a knife? After all, if you lunge with a knife at an officer in Texas, there is a good chance you are going to come out on the losing end. Did he want to spare his wife from what was going to happen? Perhaps. Then why spare his son? Why did this happen at all?
Now we are left to question the actions of a man no longer able to defend or define them. We are left trying to explain to our children what had happened, and why the man who had waved from his driveway, as well as his wife, was never coming back. Why the comfort and security that we had abandoned trendy restaurants and chic boutiques for was no longer there. Why we now want to know where they are going, what they will be doing, and most import, who will be there. We will not wave at a neighbor again without wondering what goes on when the door is shut or we are all nestled snug in our beds. We won't watch another soccer mom in a minivan go by without wondering if she is hiding a dark secret. But then again, that is what happens when sh*t gets real in the 'burbs.