Two police cars speed up North Avenue, their sirens wailing.  The screams from the cruisers are not tuned the same and create separate sounds as they race past my house.   

 There’s  no fire engine, so it’s not an accident or a fire. The cops must be chasing someone. 

 I freeze in my chair.  Sitting in front of the computer, where I’ve been working, my heart sinks to my diaphragm.  This essential pump seems to stop, as I hold my breath.  The sirens pass.  They’re not stopping here.  They’re not coming down the driveway.  Nothing bad has happened in the neighborhood.

 I can inhale.  I can exhale. I’m safe.  No one is after me.

It seemed like long minutes, but now that they’re gone, I realize it lasted just seconds, perhaps as few as ten. 

I wonder if the sirens on the police cars in Westport sound the same as cop cars everywhere, so I do what every modern American does.  I log onto Google.   Selections of mp3 and wav sounds recorded in New York, Los Angeles, and even Australia are available.  A drawing of the wave length of the sounds accompanies each option.  I listen to none of them.  The instantaneous fear reaction upon hearing warning sounds creates an unhealthy state for me. 

I’ve heard enough for now.  Misty looks up at me.  Her eyes  and voice tell me it’s time for dinner.

About writerladyjane

I'm a writer with a finished memoir, titled Images. Most of the blog posts relate to the general subject of my memoir and are about my experience of Federal Agents entering my home and arresting my then-husband for child pornography, as well as the following two years of threats on me. There are also posts that are of a lighter nature and some to do with my travels, especially a trip around the world I took with my daughter. I have an MFA in creative writing from Fairfield University and live in Westport, CT.
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