Now You See Them…


William Cavanaugh, Contributing Writer

Bill Cavanaugh, William Cavanaugh

It all started the beginning of the school year. The kids are in first and fourth grades this year, so part of the daily routine is walking them to the bus stop. Here I am each week day morning. I’m one of a few neighbors doing the same thing, sporting unkempt hair, morning breath, and not yet enough coffee. We wait patiently at the country cross roads.

Breaking the quiet, from behind, my name is called out. “Hheeeeyyyyyy Bill!” I turn to the unrecognized voices and see two attractive blonde women in a convertible, hair blowing in the wind, drive away quickly. My thoughts of, “what the heck was that?” consume me, before reality brings me back. I must have misheard, as that couldn’t have happened.

I give this incident no further thought, until about a week later. The same thing happens. As I turn to see the identity of the voices, again the vehicle’s accelerator is gunned. I ask my oldest daughter if she recognizes anyone? Her remark of “no idea” hangs in the air.

So, this continues. Another morning, and here we go again. I am not looking for this, as these encounters are sporadic. This particular morning, I am standing with a neighbor dad talking. Then the good-morning greeting of “Heeeeyyyyy Bill” is heard. As we both turn, the blonde’s are seen in the dust, as the car speeds away.

My neighbor George says to me, “Fans of yours, Bill?”

I immediately respond, “I have no idea who they are,” to which he replies, “Yeah, right.”

“I don’t,” I further protest.

That night over dishes, I tell my wife. I start from the beginning, prefacing “you won’t believe this.” I explained. “At the bus stop, every few days, two blonds in a convertible, roll through the stop sign about 20 mph, yell out my name in unison, and then speed away before I have a good look to know who it is.  For the life of me, I cannot figure it out.”

My wife’s response is, “Yes… I don’t believe you.” In my protest I answer, “It IS true,” to which I hear the sarcastic reply of, “You’re delusional.”

Good grief.  I’m telling her the truth.

A few nights later, I see my neighbor George in his driveway, and call him over. Not leading him, I request if he’d confirm the bus stop incident.

He chimes in immediately and corroborates my story. He recounts, and confirms, “I’ve seen it.”

My wife hears this, and replies “I don’t believe it.  Did he put you up to this?”

These encounters continued right up to Christmas break. Nearly four months. It got to the point where I stopped looking. Periodically, I would inform my wife, with never any response.

At the teacher’s annual Christmas party, I was called up to the front stage after dinner. As I stood in front of this audience of over 100 people, a cardboard type theatre prop of a car was walked out. In the cut-out window were two blond women who yelled, “Hheeeeyyyyyy Billlll!!!!!!!”

My wife knew the entire time. When this happened the first time, these friends of my wife told her what they had done. My wife agreed that it continue, and to string me along. She loved the idea.

People who hear this story wonder how I might get back at her.  This was after all, a four-month practical joke. But, I won’t. This was a perfect way, albeit revenge by my wife, for the many years of living with me.

Touché.  We’re even honey.  In fact, I think you’re ahead.