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Writers Corner for August 10, 2012

| August 10, 2012 9:00 PM

TO SERVE AND PROTECT

By Donna Stone, Mullan

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Sergeant Dave Collins, and this is Melanie Brown. She is with the Department of Family Services. We need to speak with you."

Katherine Morley turned off the hose she had been using to water her flowers. She smiled uncertainly at the burly policeman and the severely dressed young woman standing behind him.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

"Do you have children living here?"

"Excuse me?" asked Katherine.

"Are there children living in this home?"

"No. My grandkids visit sometimes, but they don't live here. Is there a problem? We own this home, so it shouldn't be an issue."

"When is the last time they were here?"

Katherine was becoming alarmed. "Why? Are Marc and Allie okay?"

"If that is your grandchildren, they're fine as far as we know. How old are they?"

Marc is five and Allie's three, but why are you asking? Where is Emily? Why aren't you asking her?"

"Who is Emily?" the grim young officer asked. The social worker said nothing, but she was furiously scribbling in the notebook she carried.

"She's Marc and Allie's mom. She's my daughter. Has something happened to my grandchildren? Has Emily had an accident?" The panic was rising in Katherine's voice.

"No, Ma'am. We haven't spoken to your daughter. We wanted to check out things here first."

The social worker spoke for the first time. "You mentioned Marc and Allie. What about the baby? How old is the baby?"

"Baby? What baby?" Katherine said, confused.

"Ma'am, we have a report of three children in this house a few hours ago, and according reliable information, at least one of them was in an unsafe situation. Do you mind if we take a look around?"

Katherine stood her ground on the front step. "Wait a minute. I'd like to know a little more about this first. Where did the report come from?"

"A concerned citizen called our office," replied the social worker.

"About what?"

"She was worried about the safety of the baby."

The officer glared at the social worker, annoyed by her attempt at assuming control of his scene. He held up a hand to her, cautioning her to be quiet. "It doesn't matter who called. We have a report of possible child endangerment, and we need to investigate. I'm sure you understand."

"What baby? My grandkids spent the night last night, but neither of them is a baby. Emily picked them up about an hour ago."

The social worker pushed past the officer and spoke to Katherine in a condescending tone. "Ms. Morley, we have a report that there were two toddlers and a baby in your home. At some point, you put the baby in a dangerous position. Do you deny this?"

"Look, lady, I haven't had a baby here in months. How could I put one in a dangerous situation?" Katherine voice rose as she began to lose her temper.

"You left the baby alone in a back room. When it became upset and began to cry, you instructed the little boy, apparently your grandson, to, and I quote, 'Squirt Sam with the spray bottle.' Do you consider that a proper way to soothe a crying infant?"

Katherine looked puzzled, and then began to laugh. "Is that what this is about? By all means, come in."

She opened the door and led the visitors through her small neat living room and kitchen. They entered a sunroom not visible from the front door. The room was cluttered the toys and games, obvious evidence of small children playing. In the corner was a large, white cage.

As soon as the group entered the room, the parrot in the cage fluffed its bright feathers and began a soft conversation of incomprehensible syllables.

"I can explain what happened. About 9:30 this morning, the kids and I were playing here in the sunroom. A woman knocked on the door wanting information for a political survey. I invited her in. We sat in the front room, and of course, the kids were there with us. As soon as we sat down, the bird felt abandoned and began to try to get our attention. One of his favorite tricks is to cry like a baby. He learned that when the kids were little." Katherine took a peanut from a bag on the top of the cage and offered it to her eager bird.

"How does that explain what the report said?" questioned the social worker.

"The way we get him to quiet down is to squirt him with this." Katherine pointed out a spray bottle on a nearby table.

Her visitors looked skeptical. "That really doesn't explain why you told the little boy to squirt Sam. I'm sure you won't mind if we have a look at the rest of the house," the officer said.

Katherine shrugged. "By all means. Knock yourselves out." She walked out of the sunroom, showing the duo to the stairway that lead upstairs to the bedrooms.

As soon as the group was out of the sunroom, the noise began. The officer stiffened as he heard the parrot's piercing scream followed by something that sounded remarkably like a baby sobbing.

Katherine smiled and said, "Do you mind if I squirt Sam?"

•••

WE DON'T FIT ANYWHERE

All of us have darkness inside

All of us have a darkness we hide

When we are at the fringe it glows

Darkness then starts to grow

Happiness chases away the dark

Happiness creates a smiling spark

Sometimes the darkness grows

Seeds of unhappiness it sows

When all you know is how to watch

And not be a part of the batch

We are among the basic crowd

We are not sparkly or very loud

We are called quiet and loners

The world says sometimes we're stoners

But some of us are just shy and alone

And the part of us that is a stone

Is a heart that never reached beyond

Never learned a happy song

So if in your day you see the dark

Try to smile and start a little spark

Draw that person into your day

Help that person chase darkness away

We need more human kindness

And not so much society blindness

- Patricia M. Williams, Pinehurst

•••

Kootenai County wordsmiths, here's your chance to be published.

Send us your poems, your prose, essays and anecdotes.

The Press Writers Corner features original, creative writing submitted by our readers. We publish the column most Fridays in the North Idaho Life section of the print edition of The Press.

Send your Writers Corner submissions to Maureen Dolan, mdolan@cdapress.com.

We prefer email submissions, and ask that you limit the length of your short stories, essays and poems. Please include your hometown with your submission.

You can send hard-copies by mail to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814.