An Eye for an Eye

I knew right away when I'd returned to my desk after lunch recently that something was amiss. 

Where once sat my laptop, full of all of my words, my photos from the entire year, my music and contacts and documents and notes and so very much more, sat only empty space. Next to the void, another empty space once occupied by a briefcase that had contained little more than some papers, a few business cards, a pair of headphones, and a stash of mints. Oh, and a hefty check that I'd planned to deposit later that day. 

Gone. All of it simply not there.

While I'd been just upstairs at a company luncheon, some daring and desperate thief had strolled right into the office, swiped my goods and someone else's wallet, and disappeared into the gray of a December afternoon. We walked the nearby blocks in vain hope of finding some sign of the transgressor, dug into the surveillance camera that had unfortunately decided not to snap any photos that day, and even invited one of Portland's finest in to file a report. But we all knew, even the cop, that the odds were not in our favor. They never are in these circumstances. 

My greatest worry was not over the computer itself; that kind of material mass is always replaceable. But what of everything on there? My pictures of Madeline on her first backpack, her first real dip in Crystal Lake, a clamming trip on the coast on an unlikely sunny day last February? What of my work projects, the stories and notes and sources that help put bread on my table and in my pocket? How do you replace things of such an intangible but incredibly valuable nature? (I joked with one colleague that I would have gladly handed over the computer if the thief had just let me back up the hard drive first.)

Lucky for me, I had indeed backed up most of my information — through mid-November — on an external hard drive at home. But what if I hadn't? 

That's what boils my blood when I think about the people who steal. They must think only of their immediate reward and not the residual heartache and complication they leave in their wake. If they knew the mess they left for their victims, if they someday felt it themselves, then maybe, just maybe, they'd think twice before swiping that next laptop or smashing that next car window. 

I have a new computer already — I couldn't be without one — and while I'm still getting back to where I was, I am intact. It could have been worse. 

And while I am not a vengeful person, deep down inside I do harbor thoughts of payback. Like what if there was ever some way I could meet the perpetrator of this crime and find out just what it is that's important to him, what to him has meaning and value? And then what if I just happened to swipe it and make off without a trace, just so he could see what it feels like?

Deep down, I think I'd like that.