Page 39 of Too Old for This
“This is my security system.” No whistle or pepper spray for Debbie. She preferred a steel hammer, with one flat edge and the other curved like a claw with a split down the center.
“Have you ever hit someone with it?” I asked.
“I don’t have to. That’s the point.”
I followed Debbie into her kitchen. She lived in a house much smaller and more manageable than mine. It was cluttered with all the normal things: Shoes, mail, bags, jackets. A basket of laundry in the hall. A chalkboard for appointments and notes.
She motioned for me to sit down and poured two cups of coffee. Never asked if I wanted anything. She just plunked themug down in front of me, along with a small carton of cream and a few packets of sweetener.
“I only had to use it once,” she said.
I poured cream in my coffee and leaned in a little closer to her. No chance I was going to miss this opportunity. “When?”
“After my husband and I split up, I was living alone with two kids. Everything scared me. All the sounds…the creaks and knocks, even the trees brushing against the house. And I started wondering if I could protect them. Like if something did happen, you know?”
“I do.”
“I was cleaning out the house, getting ready to have a garage sale, and I found this old box of tools. It was my ex’s. He had left it behind, and I put a price tag on it. On the day of the sale, this man showed up, and there was something about him. You know what I’m saying?”
“I do.”
“He made me feel so weird that I picked up the hammer and slung it into a belt loop,” she said. “Something about having it there, feeling the weight of it on my hip, made me feel stronger. A little less afraid.”
I nodded along with her now, understanding her words even though I had never carried a hammer before.
“So you had to use it on him?” I asked.
“Not on him. He got the message and left a few minutes later. Didn’t buy anything, either, so I knew he was up to no good.” Debbie sighed and looked out the window. “And you know how I felt? Lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Isn’t that horrible?” she said. “To feel lucky no one attacked you?”
“Yes.”
“Accepting that was the hardest part. That I should feel grateful to make it through the day alive,” she said. “And it wasn’t the last time, either.”
I paused for a minute before asking my question. “Doesn’t it make you angry?”
“Of course. It makes all of us angry.”
“You said you used it once. But not on the man at the garage sale?”
“Oh, no, not him,” she said. “It was on a boyfriend. I caught him in bed with another woman.”
“Did you…”
“Kill him? No, nothing like that. I broke his ankle when he tried to run after me. God, it was so funny. He was naked and trying to wrap the sheet around himself as he followed me to the door. When he grabbed my arm, I grabbed the hammer.”
I laughed, because she did. And because it was hilarious.
“He’s lucky you didn’t hit him in the head,” I told her.
“See, that’s it. That’s it right there.”
“What’s it?”
“Hewas lucky I didn’t attackhim,” she said. “Not the other way around.”
