I dropped my daughter Sarah off at her friend Melicia’s house. I went back a few hours later to pick her up but in the suburbs, sometimes, houses all look the same to me. I somehow found the right one and went to the door.
“Are Sarah and Melicia here?” I asked the man who greeted me warmly at the door. He nodded and went off into the kitchen, coming back with a little girl, maybe four, whose name was Sierra. Sierra and I had a nice chat and soon a woman in her 20s named Melissa came along behind her and we all started gabbing like old friends.
Finally, there was an awkward silence so I piped up, “Are Sarah and Melicia in the basement?”
Lots of puzzled looks greeted that question. A long silence and then, as it did for the family who stayed up all night to see the sun rise, it finally dawned on us. I had the wrong house.
“I think you want two doors down,” said the man who must have wondered later why he brought a little girl to the door to meet a total stranger. I wonder if he had mistaken me for someone he was expecting. Lots of apologies, then I went outside, crawled under the sod, and slithered my way down the street.
Even so, I’m pretty sure my red face shone up through the grass like a beacon.
What are the chances that the wrong house I would go to would have two females with names so close to the girls I was looking for? Freaky!
©2011 Jim Hagarty
