The Robbery

Thirty something years in the same house. Thirty something years of bringing up the same objection whenever his wife or son wanted to go on some sort of trip or vacation. Or even go out all together to see a movie. Or even just go grab a bite to eat.

However long or short the occasion was, they just couldn’t go out at the same time all together. Because according to him, they would have taken everything and his family would come home to an empty house.

--

Sometime in the 70’s. A night just right for a robbery. A small man by himself in a big house. Hurtfully cold and just windy enough to take your breath away. Even if the next sight to take in would do it anyway.

Upon entering, he knew something was wrong. Tiny was shivering all the way on the other side of the kitchen, in the corner. No sound erupted from his mouth. The little toy poodle usually barked and barked until the homeowner walked up the stairs and greeted him The few boxes that were still taped up were strewn all about on the floor. Cabinets were pulled, some even lay on the kitchen floor. Rooms were dismantled entirely.

Running upstairs, and without a moment’s hesitation, he ran to his bedroom. Looking under the bed from the right side, he couldn’t see them. Maybe it was just the angle. Looking under the bed from the left side, there was nothing there either. With his nerves gaining more momentum than his breath, he lifted the bed frame, mattress and all.

The purple bag. The gold coins. My future.

He sat on the kitchen floor with Tiny in his arms. They were both shaking.

--

Hanging onto those feelings. Latching onto that memory.

Traumatized. Obsessed.