There is a house I pass on the twice-daily-walks with Corrie-the-wonder-mutt. About nine years ago, a family of four lived in it: an ex-SFPD cop out on disability, a high-powered working wife, a 17-year-old daughter and a 15-year-old daughter. As more than five, six, seven years passed, no matter when I walked by the house, the only person I ever saw, and that was a rare sighting, was the ex-cop. For the last couple of years, it's been rented out. The middle schooler son of a friend of mine, a nearby neighbor to that house, said they suspected the renters were drug dealers, what with all the activity going on.
It's been vacant for awhile now, perhaps the ex-cop finally heard from some neighbors. Who knows? A few months back, sporadic renovations seemed to be starting, and about two weeks ago, I started noticing more activity around the house. I've seen some work people, and I've seen the ex-cop again as well. I walk the dog and approach his house and turn right up the street at the intersection where his house is on the corner. I see him and he sees me. I stare. I do nothing but stare. I stare the whole time I walk my dog by his house. He mostly looks away.
About nine years ago, when that family of four lived there, that 17-year-old daughter had done a few babysitting gigs for us and, when our little family went to Tahoe for the three-day weekend, she stayed to take care of the dog and the house.
It didn't end well.
It occurs to me, a tad over nine years ago, that I expected something more as time went by. I expected that fucked up 17-year-old Saundra to grow up and mature and maybe make her way back to my house one day, mature-like, and acknowledge what she did. She hasn't.
Her mother? The one who thought money is all it takes? Never heard from her again.
Today, as I walked by that house with my dog and saw no one, it occurred to me that the amount of work that's being done means permits would have been pulled. Should have been pulled.
Should have been pulled.
Why are there permits, anyway? For the safety of others, as I'm sure any ex-cop knows. Should know.
Trudging up the hill back home with the dog, I make a note to myself to head on down and take a gander at those permits when the government offices open Tuesday morning. I should do that.
Should do that.
I got home, fired up the old blog archives, and found the post I linked up there. Those archives are an amazing thing. I read that post, and I saw that ending where I express sorrow for the ex-cop. Travel back to my time, nine years on, and I realize something about that permit.
They really should have one.
Maybe not the ending you thought I'd come to. Maybe you thought I'd realize it's not really his fault. Maybe you thought nine years is a pretty long time.
Hear me out.
They're still married. They're still all one big happy family. [Or not, what the fuck do I care? I do know her very good friend Victoria is constantly in and out of jail, so for all I know, Saundra is doing hard time herself somewhere and that's why she can't come with sincere apologies. Good.]
Lie down with evil, evil you are.
Not sure if I hope he's a law-abiding citizen or not. Don't really care. Just know he should be.