I reached for my phone. It lit up when I touched the screen, revealing the time of 3:30 AM, and a text and a missed call. The text was the fact that our home motion alarm had gone off at 10:30 PM, five hours earlier. The missed called was the alarm company. That meant that, since we didn't cancel the alarm, they would've called 911.
My first thought was to check our doorbell video camera, but since the wifi was out at the campground, and we had no cell service where our site was in the campground, that wasn't going to happen. Maybe I should walk to the front of the campground where I'll get service, I thought.
My mind raced. Did someone break into our house? Our neighbors who were home were looking out for those who weren't, but that thought brought the sick feeling of being violated, of things trashed and lost. Burglary and looting were top of mind for those evacuated and those just getting out of the smoke due to the CZU August Lightning Complex fires burning in our areas. We've all been so stressed of late due to the fires, coronavirus and civil unrest.
"What's wrong?" my wife Amy asked. She was awake. Good.
"Our house alarm went off last night at 10:30," I said.
The power went back on in the campground, and a few minutes later wifi was back up. I checked our video camera footage, and sure enough, two police officers had rung our doorbell shortly after our alarm went off. That sick feeling throbbed again.
"I need to go check the house," I said.
"Yes, you should," Amy said.
We were only about 25 minutes from home, but it was far enough for us to get out of the smoke for a couple of nights. Smoke that still permeated much of the Westside of Santa Cruz where we live. We had been prepped to evacuate, but were fortunate that we didn't have to. Going to the campground with our camper was our choice. For nearly 80,000 people in our area, it was not a choice. We were grateful to be able to donate some bedding and other items for evacuees the day before, volunteering at one of the donation centers for evacuees and helping to sort donations.
As I drove back to our house at 4 AM, that sick feeling grew. I thought about the time in college when I rented a house with three other guys. It was near the holidays and we had a house party. There were people there we didn't know, but hey, we were partying and all was well. The next day after we had all gone off to classes and jobs, our house was broken into. Our rooms ransacked. All the Christmas presents I had bought for my family were gone, along with other valuables, never to be recovered.
As I got closer to home, the feeling of being violated fed my fear and anger. Earlier in the week in our neighborhood, there had been a shirtless guy wearing shorts, a baseball cap and a scarf covering his mouth and nose, riding his bike around and calling out, "Here kitty kitty." He claimed to be an evacuee from the mountains and was looking for his cat he had brought with him, but his story changed after talking with other neighbors of ours. We were all convinced he was casing our houses, seeing who was house and who wasn't. There were others as well going down our street. Plus, we already had an RV homeless camp across the highway from our neighborhood that had been growing for weeks. And there had already been looters arrested in the mountain community above us, and one who had stolen from a firefighter.
I pulled into the driveway and everything looked fine. My wife had texted if everything was okay. Beatrice was up too and texted she loved me. I texted back I was home. We had left the porch light on even though we have motion-activated lights. There was a package on our porch that had been delivered the day before. I was surprised it was still there. I picked it up and held it like a weapon. Later when I opened it, it was cookies from the RV dealer we had bought our camper from, so I was going to bludgeon the intruder with chocolate chip cookies.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I turned off the alarm, the package held tightly in my other hand. Nothing askew inside. Everything was how we left it. Our rabbit was in his cage in the living room staring at me and chewing hay quietly. I checked the rest of the house -- all was well. Relief washed away the sick feeling. I fed our rabbit some vegetables, locked up and headed back to the campground with the cookies.
I let our neighbors know what had happened with our alarm and that I had come home to check on things. Everyone who was home continued to keep an eye out for each other, just as the greater community where we live -- civilians, law enforcement and firefighters alike -- all doing their best to keep each other safe and to help each other. There has been an outpouring of donations and volunteers -- donations that are still needed for the 40,000 who still remain evacuated.
In the midst of so much fear and loathing today, driven by singular events, short sensational clips and soundbites, loving community wide shots abound. Like those continuing to mobilize and help one another because of fires, hurricanes, COVID-19, racial injustice and more.
Bless you all and your communities.
Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:
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