Okay, this week’s entry was SUPPOSED to be entitled “Battle Scars”… to highlight the “injuries” I’ve sustained thus far. But this morning, I awoke to find that my BIKE WAS STOLEN!! So, as nothing else is really on my mind but the FIERY ANGER burning inside, I shall write about this.
How could this happen? Who could’ve done it? My bike wasn’t on the street begging to be stolen. It wasn’t on display behind a fence, beckoning innocent passerbys with its shiny new handlebars. My beloved bicycle lived in a secured courtyard (with a keyed iron privacy gate) hidden in the back behind the stairs and trees underneath an opaque vinyl cover. I kept it in what I thought was a safe location. There are about 10 other bikes in the courtyard as well, but no one else’s bike was even touched. So I am convinced that whoever took mine KNEW that it was there. And it makes me doubly angry to think that someone who “knows” me - who has seen me riding that bike WITH MY CHILD on the back - would take it! Heartless!
I shouldn’t complain. Overall, things have been going pretty well for me here. Having my bike stolen is definitely not the worst thing that could’ve happened. That thought quelled some of the rage I felt this morning upon seeing a discarded bicycle cover on the ground where my bike used to be. But still… my father bought me that bike when I moved down here. He told me not to worry about the price; to get a quality bicycle that worked for my frame. Because I’m so tall, the bike shop had to special order one that fit. I’d just bought a child seat for it so that my daughter could ride with me. She was so excited to be riding with Mommy. Not only did it have sentimental value, it had become a primary source of transportation. And I PREFERRED riding it to using my mother’s car. Can’t pollute the environment by riding a bike; can’t get caught in a traffic jam on a bike; won’t ever spend $30 filling up a gas tank; PLUS, you get a good workout and you get to SEE more of the city while riding. It’s about a four mile ride from where we live now to my house in the Lower 9th Ward… and I happily rode there and back several times a week. I loved that damn bike.
I have my suspicions. Top on the list – the friendly neighborhood crackhead. Well, I don’t know for sure that he’s a crackhead, but he definitely has some sort of drug problem. My uncle hired him to do some work in the courtyard, so he knew what was back there. Living right down the street from us, he also would’ve known that we left town for the weekend. I haven’t seen him since we’ve been back. Of course none of my other neighbors know anything. My number two suspect is someone that lives in this apartment complex. There are four apartments here, all of which have access to the courtyard. One of the tenants gave me a tip today that seems to point the finger at another tenant. And that tenant told me that he saw the gate open yesterday, but none of the other tenants claim to have left the gate open at any time over the weekend. So who knows. I’m not sure that it’s worth my time playing Clue here. Again, this is not the worst thing that could’ve happened by far. But I’m still PISSED OFF about it. And I feel like I wanna start carrying a bat around just in case I see anybody riding my bike on the street.
[I’m really not a violent person.]
SO, I suppose this could still be about “Battle Scars”… this one being the scar on my heart or my ego or sense of trust or something. I’ll share the other two (physical scars) at another time. But, hopefully, they’ll be healed by then. Some wounds heal faster than others. Sorry for the drama, y’all. And sorry for this post being off subject… but I’m pissed.
I should mention that my house is now 100% gutted and has been mold remediated as of today, thanks to Jeh from Common Ground. Silver lining.