Dear John

Dear John,

Is your wife at home, maybe cleaning up the breakfast dishes? Does she think you just ran to the hardware store or the post office? Is she folding your freshly cleaned socks while you run out for just a minute?

Does she wonder what might be taking so long? You said you'd only be a few minutes, and yet it's already been nearly twenty since you left her waving at you from the front porch. She probably thinks you can't find the right color paint or maybe that there is a line at the post office or maybe you ran into the drugstore to pick up some candy for the grand kids.

I know you are married because I see the sun reflecting off the band on your left hand through your minivan window. Your left hand that is holding the steering wheel, making quick turns, driving circles around roundabouts, briefly stopping at stop signs and then zooming off, hoping to lose the person that is following close behind.

I am that person behind you, John. The one in the soccer mom minivan who refuses to let you get out of her sight. I know what you are about to do and it disgusts me.

My children and I were on our way to the park when we saw you cruise to a stop in front of the grade school on that busy road. We saw that dirty woman run up and jump into your front seat. And now we are following you, not letting you find a secluded spot to commit your nauseating criminal and immoral act. And yes, I am taking pictures with my cell phone, trying to capture your vehicle description and license plate number to report to the police. And while the pictures turn out far too grainy, I hope they are giving you a little scare and maybe even a feeling of shame and guilt.

John, go home to your wife. If she is no longer there to return to, I am sorry for your loss. But DO NOT make me feel unsafe and disgusted in my own neighborhood by supporting these types of crime.

Sincerely,

Sarah