Sometime over this past weekend, a crime occurred at my home. Probably at night, probably when our driveway was empty because Mr. P and I were in New Hampshire and our neighbor had gone out, someone sneaked onto our back porch and examined my bicycle. Perhaps the perpetrator spotted the bicycle from the row of houses on the parallel street with the adjoining backyards. Perhaps the perpetrator came with the intention of stealing my bike but, frustrated to find it chained to the wooden railing, decided to settle for my bike seat.
As any victim of a petty crime knows, it’s the loss of security that hurts more than the actual loss of my $10 bike seat. I wouldn’t be so disillusioned had this happened back when I was living in the dysfunctional mean-spirited wilds of Natick or in the claustrophobic fend-for-yourself streets of Cambridge (where, incidentally, it has also happened to me). But this is A-town, an upper-middle class enclave where the grand houses are tightly spaced to confer a sense of close-knit community, and where superfluous possessions abound in the open: toys and tools litter front lawns, flower pots and rocking chairs decorate porches, and ceramic gnomes dance through garden patches.
I’m safely out of my twenties, so I can mutter scathingly about those “damned teenagers” who stole my bike seat.
“How do you know it was teenagers?” Mr. P asks.
“Because only a teenager could be so heartless, callous, cocky, and idiotic as to sneak onto someone’s back porch and swipe a bike seat,” I rant. Okay, so it was either a teenager or a neoconservative.
I’m outraged enough to consider blanketing the neighborhood with the “Lost” sign pictured below. The problem is, I’m not sure if it was younger teenager who could be “scared straight” by such a bold gesture, or an older teenager who knows that I’m powerless and might possibly return to wreak more damage upon my meek bicycle. Or maybe it was some toughs from Cambridge. Regardless, posting the “Lost” sign on this website confers hollow solace, if only because it serves as a reminder of my righteousness.
