Under pressure: useless part 3

Some relevant points:
* I was raised in a pretty sheltered environment, never having to deal with critical situations.
* My first scary scenario, described below, ended up being a false alarm. So now I take extra time to determine the actual threat level before taking action.
* Las Vegas frustrated me because I took so long to act. Two minutes probably elapsed between my initial realization and the phone call. The idea that serious harm could have come to someone while I thought about what to do disturbs me.

So, my final installment of my Useless Under Pressure series -

I was much younger, though I don’t remember my exact age. Brother was perhaps 7 or 8, making me 13 at the oldest. It was summer – miserably hot in the Midwest, and we were home alone.

There had been a rash of religious visits in the past weeks. Groups of 3-4 men, always in suits despite the sweltering heat, would come to the door and hand out literature. It bothered me – I didn’t like dealing with them, always feeling vaguely threatened though I reasoned that people of God wouldn’t try to harm me or Brother.

On this particular day, 2 men had come to the door and handed me a small pamphlet. They asked me if we went to church, and when I replied in the affirmative, one man started to ask me questions. I don’t remember any of them, but I do recall that he wasn’t impressed with my answers.

I started to close the door. Understanding I was done listening, he said, “I’ll come back later this afternoon to hear what you think of that information!”

I panicked – seriously. I didn’t want him to come back! I hadn’t wanted him to come in the first place. I sat and read the information multiple times, rocking restlessly in a blue armchair by the door, trying to predict appropriate answers to the questions he might ask.

Then I called my mom. Busy at work, she told me not to answer the door when they returned. Brother and I swam in our backyard pool, completed the chores left on the detailed lists Mom would leave on the counter. All the while, I waited tensely for the men to return.

They knocked at the front door late that afternoon, about an hour before Mom and Dad were due home. I didn’t answer, walking down the hall away from the living room. Brother went in his room, located at the back of the house. I went to check on him and found him huddled in the corner farthest from the front door as was possible while remaining in the house.

“Don’t worry. They’ll go away really soon.” I said softly from the doorway. He nodded at me, and came to sit on the floor at my feet when I perched on his bed.

The doorbell started to ring and I called Mom again. She was in the middle of something and hurried me off the phone. “Just tell them to go away, sweetheart!” There were very few times she didn’t have time to talk in my childhood, but this was one of them.

So I called Grandma. Trembling in Brother’s room, I wanted help. Voice shaking, I told Grandma they wouldn’t leave. That they kept ringing the doorbell and knocking. I didn’t want to talk to them!

“You don’t talk to them. Stay in Brother’s room and wait. Did you lock the doors?”

Assured that I did, she continued.

“It will take me 15 minutes to get there. I’m headed to the car right now, OK? If they won’t leave, you call the police, and…”

“No, Grandma, it’s OK. I think they’re gone.”

“I’ll just stay on the phone until you’re sure. Just stay in Brother’s room for a few minutes.”

I agreed and we sat in silence. I had one hand in Brother’s and the other wrapped around the phone as we all sat quietly.

“They’re knocking at the back door.” I suddenly informed Grandma. They were on the patio behind the house, over the fence and very close to Brother’s window.

“Is the door locked?” Grandma asked again, sounding terrified.

Gripping Brother’s hand until my fingers ached, I was about to answer when I saw a blonde head trying to see around the peach-colored mini-blinds.

“They’re looking inside.” I whispered. “Grandma? What should I do?” Never having been so terrified, I remember being confused even as adrenaline coursed through my system. People never tried to hurt me, so it didn't really make sense that I was really in danger.

“You tell them to get away! Yell at them right now – say ‘you get away from here RIGHT NOW’! You have to protect Brother!” Hearing my sweet, calm grandmother so agitated, I acted.

“Go away.” I said loudly but politely. “You’re not supposed to be here!” I continued with a bit more force.

Brother nodded, both of us staring at the blonde hair that could be seen around the edge of the closed blinds.

“Are you guys OK? It’s Eddie.”

Brother and I sagged in relief immediately, while Grandma’s threats to anyone who dared harm us were shouted in my ear.

“It’s OK," I told her. “We’re fine. It was the neighbor from down the street. It’s all fine, Grandma. Are you OK? I’m sorry I scared you.”

She told me to call anytime I was frightened – that she always wanted to talk to me. With all the words at my disposal, I couldn’t express the intensity of the love and gratitude I felt for her. She was all that a Grandma should be.

After we let Eddie in – he had stopped by to see if we wanted to go swimming since he didn’t have a pool at his house, then was worried when we wouldn’t answer the door since he knew we were home – I explained why I ignored him. Even knowing I was safe – that Eddie would deal with any unwelcome visitors until my parents got home, his older-neighbor protective instincts aroused – my stomach remained tight and pained for hours.

The lesson, other than the fact that I suck at handling threats, is that it’s often easier to deal with the known than the horror of my imagination. It’s important to rally my internal resources, quickly assess the situation with all the clarity I can muster, and take some action. And if that action is hiding, maybe I’ll embrace it. It’s not the most effective, but apparently, it’s what I do.