The other day at about 6 in the evening I was returning home from a walk when I noticed a couple on the front sidewalk near the border of my and my neighbor’s yard. Unlocking my front door, I glanced over and thought I saw the man struggling to hold something heavy. Leaning into him, his girlfriend (if that’s what she was) giggled at his clowning. They were both swaying perilously, as though they’d just disembarked from a cruise ship and hadn’t gotten their legs under them yet. They had with them one of those oversized grocery tote bags, and whatever it was he held, he placed into the bag.
My house is just a few blocks from downtown Robbinsdale, MN, a quaint little area with several bars and restaurants that make for some good day drinking, if that’s your thing. And I think that was their thing, because, now carrying what appeared to be far too heavy of a tote bag, they walked away as the wind and the waves lashed their wayward ship and sent them to one side of the walk and then the other.
After unlocking my door, it registered that they appeared to have had a large stone, and if they did, it may have been my large stone, because I’d placed a few of them at the bottom of a small hill in my yard adjacent to the sidewalk to prevent erosion. I walked over to check, and sure enough, a large, indented area of bare dirt was missing its stone.
I gazed after them. Their progress was painfully slow. Every 30 feet or so they would stop and adjust their bag. They would lean into each other and laugh hysterically. The girlfriend tried to carry it for a bit, but she made it only a few feet before her shoulders sagged and the bag, its handles still taught, was grounded. Still in earshot, I considered accosting them.
“Sir, ma’am, that is my rock.” But it sounded ridiculous to say that, even in my head. Plus, the man was bigger than me, and he was wearing a flannel, and so was probably a “working man,” whereas I am a typing man. Also, they appeared to be having a good time.
At the same time, I think I was having some difficulty processing that someone could possibly be stealing a rock—incredibly slowly—in broad daylight (or in any light). And it wasn’t a particularly beautiful rock. I have many rocks in my yard, and the ones I’d put at the base of the little hill to prevent erosion were among the most ordinary.
I also considered the potential for an argument with a very drunk man holding a rock that could easily crush my skull. When I asked for it back, would he shot put it into my head? Drop it on my foot so that I would forever walk with a limp? The value of the rock itself was likely in the neighborhood of $2; the value of my skull, perhaps several dollars more.
I made the decision to let them carry on carrying my now former stone. As the muted light of the sun sank in an overcast sky, I sat on my front steps and watched them progress stutteringly, until some distance away they sank into the sea and disappeared from sight.
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