Explosions in the Dead of Night

A loud explosion sounded and the room lit up. I woke up, and my foggy brain tried to make sense of what was happening. There were thunderstorms in the forecast, but it didn't seem to be thunder and lightning. I decided to ignore whatever it was and return to sleep. At 4:45am I was awakened again. There was a loud "thud", then an explosion of light with sparks descending. The sound seemed to be coming from right outside my window. I decided that a branch must have fallen from a tree on top of the street light, breaking it and causing sparks. I tried to get back to sleep, but at 6 am there was another explosion. This time the sparks seemed to be on our upper story window and I woke Mark up, thinking the house might have been struck by lightning and was on fire. I looked out and saw Arnetta and another woman on the sidewalk. They weren't running away, so obviously there was no fire.

At this point I figured I would get up, go outside and see what was happening. Two guests were sleeping on the sidewalk at either side of the house, but there were no branches or pieces of glass. I put the Inn's garbage out on the street, then went into the Inn to move the wash. Later I returned to fold the towels and aprons. Fr. Michael came in for morning Mass, and remarked on the last explosion. I said maybe it was the light on the pole or a transformer exploding. Of course, if it was the transformer there would be no power, so that seemed a poor explanation.

Up the chapel, I got the true story. According to Arnetta, who had been out on the sidewalk all night, someone had been driving by and throwing lit fireworks at the sleeping guests. Father Michael chastised me for starting rumors about broken lights and transformers, and why did I think that was the source of the sound and light anyway? I told him that in the world I come from, when a loud explosion occurs followed by lots of sparks, it is either a lightning strike or an exploded transformer. Of course, I am not in that world.

I later learned that the homeless in the neighborhood are the target of groups of teens during the warmer months. Some of the boys have ridden by on their bicycles armed with baseball bats and strike at the sleeping guests. Sometimes they have thrown rocks or other objects at them. I asked if anyone cared, and the response was "We care." I remarked I was thinking more about law enforcement. Of course, it is difficult to get a license plate number from a bike, and in the dark it is hard to identify a perpetrator. "Where are their parents?" I persisted. Brother Xavier is always telling me in his Yoda-like manner that we have to remember that parental responsibility often disappears when the children are quite young and the kids are left to their own devices. They look to other units of support, and gangs are one way to feel like a family. Of all the experiences I have had so far, I find this the most upsetting because it is premeditated cruelty.