101/365 Purse Snatching

The phone rang. It was Bobbie from across the street. She said she had to get Nate to school, but that the woman who lived next door--in the Friedmans house--had her purse stolen right in front of the house just then.

I put down the breakfast dishes and rushed to the front of the house. The police were there, taking her statement. Bobbie went on:

"Yeah, she was walking to her car and this guy walked up the sidewalk, grabbed her purse, and ran down the street. She started going after him, too, and Kyle called to her not to, I mean, really."

I get off the phone and think about complacency. We've gotten sleepy between the sycamores. It's been 4 years since any crime worth calling the police about has happened. That one was a doozy--an assault on a neighbor and Jake during the National Night Out Against Crime block party (yes, we do irony here, no extra charge). I watched the cop get in his car and drive away. She went back into the house.

I felt bad. I didn't even know her name--and I know EVERYONE'S name around here. I grabbed one of my little MOO cards, you know, those half-sized business cards, and walked across the street. She was on her phone on the porch. She took the card.

"Email me," I told her. "I'll get you on the block list and stuff."

"Thank you," she mouthed back to me. I ran back across the street to get girls to school.

It's been more than a few days. No word from her--but also not much sign of her. I need to try again.