“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one final time to calm down and lower your voice,” the second officer warned.
“Don’t you tell me what to do! I called YOU! I’m the victim here! Arrest her! Arrest her children! They’re the criminals!”
The irony was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Here was Melissa, screaming at the top of her lungs about noise violations while my kids stood quietly watching. She was disturbing the peace while complaining about others “disturbing” the peace.
“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for disturbing the peace,” the first officer said, pulling out his handcuffs.
“This is illegal! You can’t arrest me! I’m the one who called you! I’m trying to maintain order!”
As they led her away, still screaming about decibel levels and neighborhood authority, the gathered neighbors burst into applause. Not mean-spirited applause, but the kind of relieved clapping you hear when justice is finally served.
Word spread through our neighborhood faster than gossip at a church social. By the end of the week, everyone knew the story of how Melissa got herself arrested for the very thing she was trying to prevent—disturbing the peace.
She avoids our family now like we’re carrying some kind of contagious disease. She crosses the street when she sees us coming. She closes her blinds when the kids play in our yard. And she hasn’t distributed a single “rule” since her arrest.
But you know what’s the most beautiful part of this whole story? My kids play outside until the streetlights come on. They laugh as loud as their little hearts want them to. They run on every single blade of grass in the neighborhood without fear.
And sometimes, when they’re being particularly joyful, I still pull out that toy noise meter!