The Loss WC 291

The Loss
WC 291

We pulled into the driveway. Tippy, the Malek's terrier, greeted us; the front door was wide open.

I was an eight-year-old kid in the backseat of their ’58 Buick watching this family drama unfold.

“Something strange is going on here,” Mr. Malek said as he opened the driver’s side door and pulled a tire iron from beneath his seat.

“Stay put!” he said as he headed for the front door, tire iron in hand. "Lock your doors!"

Mrs. Malek began crying, which started a chain reaction of tears. My heart was pounding as I locked the door on my side of the backseat. Would Mr. Malek come back outside, or had someone already murdered him?

The only reason I was part of this drama was that I was spending the night. The Malek’s daughter, June, had invited me. I had never been to a pajama party before and was really excited to finally experience one.

Mr. Malek hurried out the front door and over to the car. “We’ve been robbed!” he said. “It looks like they’re gone. I called the cops.”

While we waited for the police, Mr. Malek made sure Tippy had not been harmed.

Mrs. Malek said, “Jackie, it looks like the pajama party is off for now. We’ll have to take you home.”

I never did spend the night at the Malek’s house. My dad wouldn’t let me; he said it might be too dangerous if the robbers returned. I guess my dad had a point, but I was so disappointed.

To this day, I can see that open front door and Tippy wandering around in the yard, and I remember how vulnerable I felt.

The burglars stole the Malek’s stuff; they also stole part of my innocence.