Two Worlds Diverged in a Summer Afternoon

It was high, hot noon as I drove along the gravel road that leads to our house. As I pulled up, I stepped out of the pickup truck to open the rusted gate. The pink crepe myrtles along the front fence were in full, summer bloom—their tiny flowers winking as if to welcome us home. The railings of the gate were hot against my hands as I pulled it open while flicking, grass bugs darted around underneath its squeaky, rolling wheel. I climbed back into the truck and pulled into the driveway—gravel crunching and popping beneath the tires.

Little Foot was asleep in his car seat as I pressed the brake down with my left foot and moved the truck’s stick into neutral. Bunny and Tyrion were grazing slowly in the front paddock but had stopped to watch me pull into the driveway. I leaned back in my seat and turned up the air conditioner.

In the yard, I watched one of our red hens, Andre, scratch underneath one of the magnolia trees with her newly hatched chick, Julep. This hatching came as a surprise to us. Andre had started brooding in our mint plant a few weeks back and honestly, I thought she’d just gone a little batty. It was too hot to be brooding, I thought, and certainly an odd spot. Then, just two days ago, she hatched another chick: right there in the shade of the mint.

Bowie, the chick who Andre hatched a couple months ago [that story here] follows them closely and it’s really something to watch—mom, baby, and new baby. Little siblings. Little family.

Andre and her chicks disappeared beneath the shade of the tree as I laid my head back and closed my eyes—the a/c vent aimed right at my face. When I closed my eyes, I saw a scene in my head that just a couple of hours ago, I wish I hadn’t witnessed. I tried to shake it but I couldn’t, so I opened my eyes—the light painfully bright.

I won’t give you the gritty details because I don’t want you to see it in your mind’s eye either. But for a long story made short, a few hours ago, I saw a man getting jumped by two other men at an intersection in the next town over on my way to teach a yoga class. There were screams and there was blood. And in that moment, I was helpless to assist because number one, I had Little Foot in the car and number two, I was scared of the men who were being violent.

I did pull across the street into a bank parking lot and called the police. I stayed with them on the phone until police showed up, all the while, describing to the phone operator what I was seeing in as much detail as I could.

As I drove away, I cried. I cried a lot. I called King Ranch and my mom and cried to them, unsure of what to say or think.

I’ve never seen anyone get jumped. I’ve never seen it outside of movies or TV shows. With as much violence as there is on TV and in movies, I guess I thought if I ever did see it in real life, I would be desensitized.

But in real life, it is terrifying. It is bone-rattling. And it is shocking.

I noticed then that from inside our house, our dog, Tucker, was watching me curiously from the front window. His tongue hung down low and his ears were perked enthusiastically, so I turned the keys in the ignition and opened the driver’s side door. Little Foot must have felt the silencing of the engine because he fussed until he saw my face; then he grinned widely. I pulled his stretching body from his car seat and from the front paddock, both Bunny and Tee brayed.

With Little Foot propped up on my hip, I closed the front gate and reached over the fence to pat both Bunny and Tee’s noses before walking up the driveway to the front door. As I walked, I kissed Little Foot’s cheek over and over again. Andre and her babies hopped out from beneath the tree chasing a flicking bug and I could hear Tucker barking with excitement.

Inside, the running a/c and Tucker’s wagging tail welcomed us. I set Little Foot on the ground in the entry way and he took off running towards his box of blocks. I sat down at the kitchen table and stared out the window unable to hold my tears once again.

There were no words I could conjure and still, I have nothing profound to say—just that there is a whole, beautiful, vibrant, life-giving world existing alongside a very violent, angry, unfair, and hurtful one. I wish we could all live together in the nice one. I really do. I hope that one day, we all can.