"Did the fan fall over?" He asked, face scrunched and eyes foggy with confusion.
"That was definitely outside," I answered, ever the detective.
"Someone probably ran into my truck," he said, his voice a mix of sarcasm and an eerie sleep-addled prophecy.
And ohhhhh, "ran into" was the understatement of the year, folks.
We live in a townhouse on the corner of a residential street and a fairly busy commercial street. When we bought the place and moved in, we realized Ryan's big, manly, double-cab, full-size, Midwestern pick-up truck was too long to fit into our modest little Californian garage. But that was fine, right? There was plenty of street parking - it wasn't a big deal. So, the car went in the garage and the truck parked outside on the side of the street, along with a myriad of other neighbors' vehicles. And all was well...until one fateful hot night last week.
Ryan left the room to go look out the hall window.
"It was my truck," he grumbled, running back into our room and throwing on a t-shirt. "Somebody hit my truck."
"What?! You're kidding me?!" I was out of the bed like my buns were on fire, running out into the hall to stare out the window (forget clothes, you guys, this nosey homegirl was standing in the window in her skivvies, obviously) while Ryan went outside to deal with the aftermath.
The crash was so loud, it had woken several of our neighbors, who were also outside. On the deserted late night street a mustang, presumably driving WAY too fast, had slammed into the side of the truck. It demolished the back side and launched the truck up onto the sidewalk where it took out a big metal pole and bounced back into the street. A mustang. Took out a full-size pick-up truck.
And then, the driver tried to flee the scene in his completely destroyed and non-operational car. When that didn't work, he tried to leave on foot. Because, as we later discovered, he was drunk, unlicensed and uninsured - I mean, we really hit the trifecta here.
An hour or two and many police questions later and we were back in bed - the hot scent of spilled gasoline and tire rubber still wafting through the open window, thoughts of insurance claims and lawsuits buzzing through our overwhelmed minds, sweaty, wide-eyed, one vehicle and several thousand dollars poorer than we were when we'd first gone to sleep.
It's almost a funny story now that the truck's been towed away and we have a shiny new vehicle we didn't want to spend money on sitting in our garage. Almost.