Naomi Dathan

So when I got home the other day, I discovered that a family of four had moved into my house.  They were eating the food out of my fridge, watching my TV, and digging through my kids’ clothes to find the best things.

“What the heck are you doing?” I demanded.  ”Get out of my house!”

The father glared at me.  ”You’re house is nicer than mine.  Mine has holes in the ceiling and the walls are all torn up.  You have no right to keep me out!”

“I’m calling the police,” I snapped.

“Go ahead,” the man answered, plucking my car keys out of my hand.  ”But in the meantime, I need the car.”

“Hey, give me those!  I just paid that car off!”

“You’ve had the car all day,” he said.  ”It’s my turn.”

“It’s my car!  Why do you think you get a turn?”

He looked at me like I was crazy.  “I don’t have a car,” he said, forming the words carefully, so even someone as stupid as me would understand.  “It’s hardly fair, is it, if you have a car and I don’t have one?”

I grabbed my cordless and called 9-1-1.  The dispatcher promised me someone would be there soon.  While I waited, the family started going through my books and DVD’s.  Sometimes the mother would point one out to the kids.  If the kids smiled, then she smiled back and tucked it into her big purse.

“Put it back!” I yelled, but they ignored me.

They didn’t look up when the doorbell rang.  I ushered two officers through the door.  “Arrest these guys!  They’re trespassing!”

I waited for them to yank out their handcuffs and haul them away, but instead they hesitated.  “How long have they been here?”

“I don’t know . . . they were here when I got home.”

“All day,” the man interjected.  “Since early this morning.  My children feel like this is their home.  There are opportunities and comforts here that we don’t have in our home.  The school is better here, too.”

“I see.”   One of the officers got on her phone, while the other gave me an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry.  This is a very delicate situation.  If we don’t handle this right, it’ll stir up the perfect storm of controversy.  The media will eat us alive and we’ll end up getting suspended or fired.”

“You’re . . . kidding.  You’re kidding.  They’re breaking the law.  They’re taking my stuff.  I work hard to pay for that stuff.”

“We don’t have the same opportunities at my home,” the father explained.  “I told you that.”

The female officer, still on her phone, walked past me and upstairs.

“Where are you going?” I asked, but she was still involved in her conversation.

The woman abandoned her DVD search and went into the kitchen.  I followed her.  She opened the freezer door and fished through it, emerging with a box of ice cream.  “Kids, let’s have a treat!”  The kids chorused their approval.

I snatched the box out of her hand and held it away from her.  “No!  You’re not eating that!”

I felt it plucked from my fingers and turned to see the officer handing it back to the woman.  “Sorry,” he said.  To her.

“What?”

The other officer appeared, closing her cell phone as she approached.  “Okay, we’ve got it worked out.”

“Great!” I said.  “Jeez, it’s about time.”

“I see you have three bedrooms upstairs.  Your daughters  will need to share the one, so this family can use the other one.”

“What?”

The two kids started to cry.  I felt budding hope.  Maybe they sensed that this wasn’t right.  Maybe they wanted to go back to their own home.

The mother hurried to comfort her children, keeping the box of ice cream tucked securely under her arm.  “What’s wrong?  Are you hurt?  Did that mean lady make you feel unwelcome?”

“I — I –”  The littlest one gulped and sniffed.  “I wanted my own rooooooooom!”

The parents and the older sibling turned as one to stare furiously at me.  The officers stared at the floor.

“Un.  Believable,” the father muttered.  “All I want is for my child’s needs to be met, and I face opposition and prejudice at every turn.”

The mother kissed her child’s forehead and stroked her cheek.  “Don’t you worry, sweetie.  We’re here now, and we’ll make it better.  Let’s eat this ice cream now and we’ll get settled in.  Tomorrow, we’ll repaint the whole house so it looks more like home.”

The male officer shuffled his feet, then glanced up to meet my eyes for the barest of seconds.  “So,” he said, clearing his throat.  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“There’s something else you can do for me,” the mother chimed in, as she stuffed ice cream into cones.  “This woman’s dogs nearly bit us as we came in the house this morning.  They are a menace, and I want them removed before one of my children gets hurt.”

“We’ll take care of it, ma’am,” the female officer replied.  “I’ll have animal control here this evening.”

And then, after pointing a finger at me in a silent warning to behave, the officers left.