a few sundays ago, around quarter after 10pm, a. and i were upstairs getting ready for the work week and i was simultaneously talking with my sister on the phone. yes, talented, i know. and suddenly, there was a rap at the door. the sort of rap that meant business. who could it be? our downstairs was dark and we thought maybe sean was dropping by on a whim. nevertheless, we cautiously and curiously toed downstairs and unlatched the deadbolt to see one of baltimore's finest clad in his blue uniform and cop cruiser doubleparked out front. i waved at him with the phone still to my ear and said hi, he turned to us and said,
"we've had a complaint that you have been abusing your child."
a. and i turned to each other, cocked an eye at one another with a bit of a pursed smile and then looked back at him and announced in stereo,
"we don't have a child."
the cop looked at us in an authoritative-accusatory sort of way and said, "you don't?"--his eyebrow cocked and head tilted slightly as his tone inflected. at this point i asked my sister to hold on, and put the phone finally to my side. we again said quite plainly, "no."
our gentleman caller then changed his whole posture and gave kindof an aww-schucks embarassed dance-shuffle on our porch. he called back to his dispatcher and confirmed the address, which he was standing in front of, but someone along the chain of telephone had written down the incorrect street number as we don't have any children, save each other. the sheepy-copper then slunk away with an apology and all we were left to think about was the poor kid who was actually getting abused somewhere along our block or the next that didn't get the help that their neighbors called upon the authorities for. some mistakes are bad, and equally so, sad.