A Hunter’s Prey
For the second time since moving to Austin, I have had my car broken into by a criminal.
And besides the shattered glass and bitter cold, I find myself even more calm than the first time. I know things will be taken care of…I know I am going to be out several hundred dollars, again. But there is light…a gated community, a garage, and the answer to my problems.
A friend told me the most true of things. She told me it wasn’t my fault. It never was, and this time is certainly no different. There is crime, and theft, and destruction of property everywhere. But there is a light, and in some ways, she is that light.
I don’t see this event in singularity. I see it as part of a greater arch, the story of my life. I see myself, standing outside on my back porch, drinking a cold one with my best friend David. We’re barbecuing while our wives cook inside. Children, the spitting image of their parents, running from room to room, inside and out. The Cowboys game is on television, or is it the Patriots? And we talk, about everything and nothing: work, the kids, life, vacations not yet taken. And when we sit down to eat together, as families do, we will smile and laugh–regaling tales of youth and circumstance. And this story, the most inauspicious of stories, will be told with a hint of pride. Survival of these years and success we all now enjoy. Crawling through a river of shit, to come out clean on the other side.
You see, it’s about hope. From this burglary to my final years. With her, with them, there is always hope.
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