Tonight
there was a gas leak in one of the pipes in the street right in front of my
house at the exact spot where I park my car every night. I could smell it
outside and called the fire department. They checked the basements of all the
houses while they waited for the gas company to show. The smell didn’t seem to
be coming from any of the houses; just that one spot on the street. The
gentleman who work for the gas company confirmed that it was indeed coming from
the pipe that was right where I parked my car. He had a mallet and some other
tools with him and said that he had to do a little digging to see if the leak
headed towards my house or my neighbor’s house and that a crew was on their way
to fix it.
Like I
always do in situations like this, I went for the humor: I offered the firemen
alcohol (of course they refused), asked one of them for cigarette, and when it
was time for me to move my car I demanded that I wanted it in writing that I
would be safe to start it and threatened to haunt him if he lied to me. There
were also borderline inappropriate jokes about phone apps and a stud finder
(right, ladies?)—you had to be there. When the first worker from the gas
company showed up, after he found the leak (and also found out that there was
gas on the foundation of the house), I told him if he was going to blow it up
to do it now before I finished cleaning, because I’d be really pissed if I
cleaned the house only to have it blow up.
This was a
good night for it to happen, because both of my girls were not going to be
home. My oldest was working until 11 and I was going pick her up from work and
drive her to her father’s house in Boston because she needed to be there in the
morning. Because of that I made arrangements for my 10-year-old to stay at my
friend’s house (who also happens to be my daughter’s school bus driver) so that
she wouldn’t have to be out driving with me late. I know that if they had been
home they would’ve been nervous.
I had about
two hours until I had to leave to pick my daughter up from work, and I’d been
standing outside with the firemen and the gas man, and I was getting cold. So I
went inside. I was in the house alone, and I could feel the house shake every
time the gas man swung his mallet and hit the ground around the pipes. And then
I realized something.
I was afraid.
I will not
say that I’m not afraid of anything, but I don’t usually get scared. I get
uncomfortable, nervous, hot, cold, pathetic, snarky, flighty, bitchy, hungry
and horny – but I don’t get scared. Not like this. I have had scary moments, but I’ve always
prided myself on my ability to not react out of fear—even if I get reactionary
shakes afterwards, I’ve always managed to be clearheaded in the most trying
moments.
This goes back as far as I can remember, from when I was eight and
almost drowned in the bathtub when my hair got caught in the drain (I don’t
think I ever told my parents about that) to a few years ago when I lost the
brakes when I was driving a full school bus—of course there was that almost
freak shaving accident in the shower couple years ago that I mentioned last
month. I have had serious experiences; I have children – and there is always a
measure of fear at points in their lives, but I don’t remember ever being
afraid like I was tonight. We live in an age of terrorism. My family is
military, and I was brought up to not react in fear or to allow myself to live
in it. In my first blog here I referred to terrorists as bullies and got a
little snarky.
But tonight
I was actually afraid. This was a very new experience for me.
I have to
say this is been a banner fucking year for me for new experiences.
A number of
years ago when I was driving a school bus full-time I was driving a route that
was undergoing construction on part of it. I bitched about it for days and the
delay it was causing, especially because one of my stops was right in the
middle of it. One day, about an hour after I picked the kids up at that
particular stop, my boss called me on the radio and told me I wasn’t going back
to that stop in the afternoon. When I asked why she said, “It blew up.”
I do not
know if I have the correct information about what happened, but the information
that I have has become my truth. From what I understand, it was human error and
that someone hit the gas main. The house that was there exploded and,
fortunately, the four college students that were inside sleeping all survived.
I had heard a couple of years after that that those poor kids were still suffering
the fallout of that – understandably so. Obviously, I had some serious moments
of thought about that myself. I stopped there twice a day every day while that
construction was going on, and that accident happened less than an hour after I
was there. That was enough to give me some pause (understatement). Apparently,
it also gave me a measure of fear. I park my car on that spot every single
night. Despite confident assurance from the gas company worker and the fire
department, I was actually afraid. But they told me that everything was fine
and relatively easy to take care of.
Because of that I had no intention of
running away to spend the night somewhere else. I like to be able to trust that
people know their jobs, and I wasn’t about to be a hypocrite to what I say I
believe in by running scared, or to worry about the possibility of human error.
That possibility is always there, for everything.
Before I go
further, I want to thank everyone who has a job where “business as usual” is
potentially dangerous: gas workers, electricians, construction workers,
transportation workers, policeman, firemen, doctors and nurses, military
personnel – everyone who has a job that carries a large responsibility with
little room for error. Thank you for knowing what you do, and doing it to the
best of your ability.
Every parent
is aware of the façade we put on for our children when things aren’t going
well. Normally, I complain about having to put on “that face”, because it’s not
easy. It’s not easy to pretend that everything is fine for the kids, that
you’re not worried about whether or not you can feed them or pay the rent. Or
hide a negative attitude. Or hide fear. I was grateful that my kids were not
around tonight. I also realize that sometimes it’s easier to forge through
something when they are around and you have to plaster that confidence on.
Because for half an hour I was alone in the house, and every time it shook with
the downswing of the mallet, so did I.
I was
determined to stick it out. Guess what I did?
I called my father.
I wanted him
to confirm what I was already told, that everything was going to be fine. I
felt more than silly about it, and fully expected him to make fun of me. I felt ten years old.
But he
wasn’t home.
(Yes, I had
a good laugh at that, too.)
Knowing that
I was going to be picking my daughter up, and not wanting him to call me while
I was with her, when I left my message I did not tell him why I was calling. I
did not want her to know that I was concerned – and rightly so; as soon as I
dropped her off at her father’s house she called me while I was driving home,
very worried about me being home near a gas leak. I did what every parent would
do, and I told her that everything was going to be fine.
For the
remainder of the ride home I thought about the times that I’ve had to put a
face on for my kids, and then for the times that I know my parents had to do
the same for me. And I appreciate it. Especially now that I know what it’s
like. And I thought back about specific instances where I know now that they
put on the paint and spackle for me and my brothers and sisters, that I hadn’t
known then. And I appreciate it.
To all of you
parents out there (past, present, and future) – especially the single parents
who go through it alone, know that the effort you make now will be appreciated
later in some way. My father wasn’t home when I called him tonight (and you
know I’m going to give him hell later!), But he did help me: first, in the
gratitude that I felt for the façade he always put on for me, and second, in
that happy realization that I had that – despite the turbulence of our
relationship – I actually wanted to
call him in that moment. I had always mourned that I didn’t have a “family
home” to go back to (divorce will do that). But I know I have family to go back to. And that comforted
me incredibly.
Gas leak?
Smash shmeak. I have better things to think about.
(When I got
home from Boston, the gas company was still here, but they said they were
pretty much finished and just cleaning up. It’s 3am now, and there’s still a
truck outside, but they do seem to be pretty much done. Thanks, guys.)
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