The middle-aged, single mother was telling the story of her fifteen-year-old son with Down Syndrome and his escapades with her friend, while she had gone out to shop for groceries today.
Alone in the house, she made the decision to depart, as she believed he was now elderly and responsible enough to be without supervision and take care of himself.
If anything were to go awry, she had instructed to dial her son who seemed quite agitated. It was a phone conversation she received after hauling a shopping cart around for about an hour.
(Raises eyes from the book) He was informed by his mother that their house was smaller than any other they had captured. Can you imagine a response from anyone else or her?
Abandoning her routine grocery shopping, the mother, nonetheless, had no alternative but to hastily return. Occasionally, he allows it to roam freely to the extent that it misleads him, and she shared with her friend about her son’s exceptionally imaginative mind. Despite her persistent efforts to persuade him otherwise, he insisted that she hurry home as soon as possible after a few minutes of their discussion.
She remained unconvinced. Someone who still appeared extremely enthusiastic about what he thought was occurring welcomed her son at the entrance when she returned home.
She was surprised to find that something still rattled inside her son’s house, and after thoroughly checking throughout, she couldn’t find anyone else inside to prove it to him.
She explained how he can get very excited about trivial things. She thought he was completely delusional and tried her best to calm him. He pointed out that she had forgotten to look in the closet underneath the stairs where he was trapped, and she was not even reading my book anymore.
He thought nothing else mattered so much as the dwarf he had captured. This was a triumphant day for him. He had never looked happier, but his look was worried, yet she immediately gave him a questionable expression. It sounded like a muffled cry for help coming from beneath the stairs. At this point, the mother heard something.
She must have prayed that she had an infestation of rats. She had no pets. She couldn’t be that cat’s noise. She couldn’t find a clear explanation for what was happening, but she tried her best to comprehend the situation.
Just beneath her roof, a situation of hostages was occurring. The sound of it was as evident as daylight, no more muted. The commotion
She was aware that she had no choice but to open it when the commotion began to intensify and the sound of loud thumping on the closet door became audible.
The mother was astonished and the son was ecstatic. The man who emerged, impeccably attired in a shirt, tie, and pants, was much larger than a mere 4 feet. He was swearing and cursing.
The salesman, who was simply trying to sell double glazing in that area, had nothing more than a door-to-door flog. It turns out that the vertically impaired victim was his only downfall. It was just his height that turned out to be his downfall. Clearly, he had tried to sell the wrong household.
The salesman on the train explained to the mother how incredibly furious he was that he had threatened to sue her for the trauma he had suffered.
Unfortunately, at this point in the conversation, my friend and her mother left me, leaving me to continue reading the most mind-numbing books. I never wanted to listen to the end of another story in my life.
Has he accompanied the mother and her son who have Down Syndrome to the court? Is he still engaged in the business of selling dual-paned windows?
I was definitely taken aback by the idea of anything other than a courtroom packed with jurors, clerks, and the judge bursting into laughter on the floor. I would have been thrilled to witness that trial.
I’m going to listen in more frequently.