Saturday mornings are meant for sleeping in, and we had, Bob and I, until about 10 that morning. And it was one of those perfect Saturday mornings too, early fall, just a hint of coldness and more than a hint of color. We were still in our pj's, unshowered, eating bowls of cereal, and watching cartoons in an apartment that desperately needed cleaning. So, of course it makes perfect sense that when it was least expected or desired, the buzzer would ring indicating someone at our front door.

Bob picked up the receiver and asked who it was. "Just some of your neighbors," a female voice answered. "We'd like to speak with you for a moment." Bob thought that perhaps we'd been playing our music too loud, and they wanted to scold us, or that a child was missing and a search posse was being assembled. Since my hair looked like a rat had slept in it with four of its closest friends, I nominated Bob to get dressed and run down the three flights of stairs to see who waited below. Begrudgingly, he did.

I leaned over the railing, listening to the voices drifting up the stairwell. Certain words caught my attention. Commitment. God. Faith. Beliefs. Uh, oh. I suddenly realized what poor, soft-hearted Bob had walked into: The Jehovah's Witnesses were paying a visit to our abode and Bob was trapped downstairs. Too nice to blow them off or to back out of the situation.

A second later, my solution popped into mind. I smiled, and took a deep breath. Then I screamed.

"Bob! Oh, my God! Bob, get up here now! I need you!" I tried to inflect an appropriate mixture of fear, panic and urgency in my high-pitched pleas. A moment to pause and listen, and then another scream: "Oh, my God! Bob!"

Downstairs, Bob heard my screams and suddenly thought, oh, no, the apartment is on fire. His train of thought abruptly changed, and in a moment he too, smiled, albeit in spirit alone. "Uh, oh my. Oh, I gotta go!" And he turned his back on the two ladies, shut the door and ran upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, Bob's eyes caught mine. His grin was almost as big as mine, and all the thanks I needed. Ten minutes later the women finally left, having realized Bob wasn't coming back.

My Stories
The Art of Being Human