A Healthy Dose of Fear

Me and the pink Dell laptop are snuggled on the bed next to the slumbering husband.  Distressed screams can be heard at this late hour, coming from the hall just outside my bedroom door.  It appears that Zachary's name is contained within the high-pitched feminine utterances.  My suspicions are confirmed when big sister, Ashley, pops her head in the door to exclaim it was just her yelling at him for purposely scaring her.  BOO!  An early Halloween trick, perhaps?  Or, just another night in the Valdez household, more likely! 

The tradition of striking sudden and immediate fear in close family members for the sheer gratification of the prank goes way back.  It has its origins in a time when big sister ran up and down the length of the long hall in the apartment we shared with Jimmy's parents and his brother in Omaha, Nebraska.  Evidently, we were in need of free entertainment; Ashley was it.  She had this one sweet little nightgown in particular that her Grandma Olivia made -- red and white vertical stripes with a matching nightcap in the same pattern -- that she wore quite often.  A living, breathing, howling  candy cane of a toddler is what I recall. 

The scenario: her crouching dad would hide behind the turn at the end of the hall in front of the bathroom door.  Ashley would quickly cover the distance from beginning to end, wee legs a pumping, her anticipation evident to all observers.  "Uhh, uhh, uhh!"  Her voice would rattle up her throat and out her slack mouth in a funny wordless chant all the way.  Dad would pop out, bug-eyed, and his voice booming forth in the loudest of "Rawwwwwwwrrrrr!" growls which somehow always dissolved into even louder giggles in the speedy wake of his first child tearing down the hall.  Her open mouth as wide as her eyes, on the verge of terror, making more noise than one would believe humanly possible.  By the time she reached the living room at the opening of the hall, she, too, was high on laughter.  No matter how many times he performed this macabre ritual, she would unceasingly beg for more, "Again, again, again-n-n-n!"  Those were the days.

And then there was the time in Broomfield, when my neighbor pal helped me dish out a healthy portion of brain-numbing fright to my husband.  It was evening.  Dark outside.  I had returned home from the grocery store where I had rounded up easy to prepare and serve food for the family to eat in my absence because I was headed to The Big Apple the following day with our cousin, Tony.  While emptying the Pathfinder of its edible contents, who should JUMP out from behind the opened door but my husband.  That his week's worth of  groceries didn't go rolling down the drive and onto the street was a minor miracle.  I think my heart may have briefly ceased its beating!  When I told my friend what had gone down -- a last-minute borrowing for the trip necessitated a visit -- she informed me that she was most expert in the shock n' spook game.  "Really . . . " I said, visions of sweet horrific revenge dancing a quickstep in my head.

The trap was laid.  Our garden level laundry room was the scene.  I unlocked the large window by the washer on the pretense of checking the progress of the cycle; after I returned upstairs, my friend snuck in and situated herself behind a half wall constructed of plywood at the bottom of the basement stairs.  As she lay in wait, I was in the boudoir, deeply embedded in my role of deceiver, laying on the affection good and thick.  Saying my 'goodbye' for the upcoming week of my absence.  In the midst of this, I abruptly stopped our progress to ask if he would check the dryer because I wasn't sure I turned it off and the thought was distracting me.  He was on the task in seconds, eager to return to our farewell.  (I'm sorry, but after years of being tricked, cajoled, fooled, and otherwise teased, who can blame a gal for resorting to her feminine wiles?)

Tiptoeing behind him, peeking around the corners as I advanced, I made it to the door to the basement just in time to see my dear spouse make the bottom step.  Suddenly, my great sport of a neighbor jumped out from her hiding spot.  The rest played out in hilarious slow motion.  Her arms opened wide as she let out a chilling shriek.  He jumped in place, began to fall toward her, and raised his fist to punch in his alarmed state.  I say he let forth a very unmanly loud yelp; he says otherwise.  At the last moment, he registered the identity of his 'attacker' and opened his own arms before collapsing into her arms in a big shaky bear hug. 

You have never, NEVER, never I say, in your lifetime, heard two grown and tired women laugh so hard, so loudly, and so long.  Can't say the same for my Lothario.  Priceless.  Truly.  To this day, he maintains he was merely startled and it was a dangerous prank because someone could have been hurt.  I maintain that he was scared stiff and a bit too proud to admit that WE GOT HIM GOO-O-OD!