Bonjour. It’s me. The French-Canadian woman you robbed on Lepage Avenue in Dorval, on July 4, 2012, at one o’clock in the morning. You might not remember me. I would understand if you don’t. It was very dark and you were very tense. But as for me, I will never forget you. Or your voice, which roused me from a deep, deep slumber.
“Get up and get me your money and jewelry!” you barked.
You were standing at the foot of my bed. Tall, skinny, dressed in head-to-toe black and that ridiculous Scream ghost-face mask (really, where does one buy an outfit like that?). You had my 80-year-old husband, Walter, in a headlock. That got me mad. I’m sure you didn’t know it—how could you?—but Walter was in the early of stages of Alzheimer’s. I wagged my finger at you.
“Let him go, he could be your grandfather!” I said. To your credit, you released him as if he were made of hot coals.
I told you we didn’t have any money or jewelry in the house. That we were just two old folks living a simple life. You didn’t believe me. You told Walter to take the drawers out of the bureau and empty them on the bed. Your voice quavered. I could tell you were new at this. You had a gun, but it was pointed at the floor. Was it fake? I couldn’t take a chance. If only I could somehow make it to the hallway, I could hit the security alarm and alert the authorities.
As if reading my mind, Walter dropped one of the bureau drawers and you got distracted. I saw my chance and bolted. No easy feat for a sixty-something, mind you. I jabbed the alarm.
Seconds later, you grabbed the back of my pajamas and you pulled me back to the bedroom.
“You shouldn’t done dat,” you said. It sounded like an impression of a villain in some bad television movie. But it must’ve scared me because all of a sudden I felt dizzy, disoriented. When I got my wits about me, you told me to hand over the earrings and necklace I was wearing. I obliged. You were busy examining your loot when I summoned the energy to break free again. I ran out of the bedroom, grabbed my cellular phone from the foyer and called 911 from the porch.
“Help!” I said. “There’s been a robbery—”
You tried to wrestle the phone from my hand, then dragged me back into the house to the living room.
“You shouldn’t done dat,” you said again, same bad accent. My legs wobbled. I grabbed the sofa for support. In the distance, I heard sirens. Thank heavens! Then I blacked out.
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When I came to, you had left. So had I. I was in an ambulance. A man held defibrillator paddles over my chest. Walter knelt beside the paramedic, asking over and over if I was going to be okay. Before I could ask questions, I was out again.
I woke up in an all-white room. The hospital. Nurses, doctors and detectives rushed in and out. I told the police all I could remember about you, then had a CT scan. I was so foggy, so tired. I couldn’t make much sense of anything. Until the following morning when I was transferred to a more specialized hospital in Montreal. The physician shook his head at the scans of my heart.
“Madame, when was the last time you had your heart examined?”
“My heart?” I said. “Never.” Why would I? I was fit as a fiddle, as the saying goes.
“I can hardly believe how clogged your arteries are,” he said. “I’ve scheduled you for immediate triple-bypass surgery. You are very, very fortunate that you got here when you did. A few more days like this, Madame, and you might not have been so lucky.”
I was completely shocked. I had never had any chest pain. No shortness of breath. There was no indication I was a ticking time bomb, other than feeling sluggish.
Young man, I’m not sure why you picked our bungalow out of the dozen or so identical houses on Lepage Avenue. We certainly didn’t have the nicest lawn or the fanciest car in the driveway. Still, you did pick us. So thank you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be a goner. I wouldn’t have had the surgery. I wouldn’t have recovered. I wouldn’t have been there to take care of Walter.
You were never caught, but if you read this, Monsieur, I would like you to know you are forgiven. You saved my life. I pray you’ve turned your own life around. It’s never too late.
Of course, it would be nice to have my jewelry back. But I will settle for a long, healthy future.
