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Monday, July 15, 2002 Saturday night my kids were safe in their beds, visions of Playstation games in their heads, and I'd just settled down for a full night of rest, having driven for 6 freaking hours to and from Austin that day. Around one o'clock in the morning, I very suddenly wake to the sound of firecrackers above my children's bedroom window. "Are y'all okay???" I yell. Luckily, they stay asleep. More firecrackers sound from above, this time accompanied by stomping. "Goddammit," I think, a picture of my upstairs neighbor firmly in mind. She's new at our complex. She sits on her balcony in the afternoons and holds court among the other unemployed denizens of our apartments. At first I wanted to hate her because of that. (Jealousy, I admit, even though in MY version, I'd be chatting from my balcony down to hot guys in various uniforms and not to the shirtless disability-benefit gatherers who fill our landscaping with tomato plants and Miracle Grow.) Finally, a reason to hate this woman for real. Imagined a drunken orgy of pyrotechnics, Captain Morgan, and hot dirty sex, I called the landlord's pager and left an petulant message. His voice mail system cut me off mid-gripe. I called again, sighed, and said my phone number into the machine. I considered going upstairs and complaining to the source but, upon half-remembering gun ownership statistics for Texas, thought the better of it. The firecracker noise eventually abated, and I got back into bed. Did I go back to sleep, though? No, I did not. Creepy thought: someone peeking into your window.
Whimpering, I dial 911 on said phone and try to refrain from screaming as the flashlight plays across my saggy breasts shielded merely by my Borg Inc. t-shirt. "Fire police emergency," says a bored voice on the other end of the line. "There's a... there's a... there'ssomefreakingguyshiningaflashlightinmybedroomwindow!" I very quietly scream. "Did you want fire, police, or emergency?" the harassed woman sighs. "What? I don't know. There's a GUY shining a FLASHLIGHT outside my..." "Hold for police," she says. The police come on, I repeat my hysteria, they promise an officer on the way. I hang up and run back to my children's bedroom. They sleep innocently as tiny baby bunnies while the flashlight plays back and forth across the window, branches cracking in its wake. I decide that its bearer is taking his time trying to decide what to steal, or looking for someone prettier than me to rape. I imagine that my mere presence in my children's bedroom, despite my intense desire to cower on the other side of the apartment, will somehow serve as some sort of protection. After eight jillion years of this, the Flashlight of Menace seems to be gone, and I risk running to my dresser for my cell phone. (Evenings and weekends free. How could I forget?) In the living room, I call the non-emergency number to the police station and tell the operator that I've been waiting for at least ten minutes. Sarcastically, I tell her that the intruder is gone and that I don't need police assistance anymore, but that I was hoping to set an appointment to review the event with an officer sometime in the future -- perhaps over tea? "Ma'am, the officer is outside your apartment right now. I see him on my screen. Did you want him to go into your apartment, or what?" "Uh... um... well, yeah," I reply. Why not get my taxes' worth, right? She hangs up to relay my request and I hear voices outside. I peek through the front vertical blinds, see that it's my two nosy neighbors (with the Miracle Grow) and venture out to hear what's going on. "...bangin' on my bedroom window," Skinny Neighbor is saying. "Damn crazies," Chunky Neighbor replies. "Did the cops come?!" I ask. "Yep," they tell me. "Did they catch him?" I exclaim. "Nope," they say. "Oh my god! I can't believe he was walking back and forth with that flashlight for SO LONG, and the cop didn't catch him! Jesus freaking dang it! Gosh freaking DANG!" say I. (I've been trying to quit cursing so much.) "Oh, it weren't nobody with a flashlight... That was HIM, with MY flashlight," says Chunky, indicating Skinny. "He went back there to try `n' see what was goin' on." "What? CRAP," I say. "You scared the freaking crap out of me. GOD." They tell me some story about a recurring woman sneaking through a whole in the fence to bang on their bathroom windows. I say nothing, thinking that Skinny was pretty thorough with the flashlight, there, and had it pointing in the wrong direction. But I let the matter drop for temporary goodwill's sake and say, "Well, what was up with the firecrackers, then?" Chunky says the people above me always light firecrackers. Skinny seems doubtful, saying that "Michelle and them are real nice people." Just then, up walks one of Houston's finest by the name of Sergeant Tall Dark and Broad Shouldered. "Are you Number 11?" he says to me. "Oh, Officer!" I cry, fainting into his arms while still retaining my crossed arms under my bosom in lieu of an underwire brassiere. Just kidding. I file my report, which consists of "What they said." Then I ask if he's going to do anything about the firebugs. As he stomps up the stairs in his bitchin' leather boots, Skinny and Chunky melt away into the shadows. Recalling that I don't know Michelle or her band of noisemakers well enough not to be totally chickenshit around them, I retreat into my own apartment. I hear talking but no words. Skinny and Chunky waylay the good officer when he comes back down and all three voices fade into the distance near our front gate. I sigh and, eight zillion hours later, manage to go back to sleep. The phone rings. Like the stealthy phone ninja in the night that I have over time become, I pick it up before the first ring ends and say hello without even thinking to panic. It's Officer Friendly, wanting my DOB for his report. Instead of bitching him out for waking me up, I let my psychotic need for gossip take over, instead. "So what was their excuse?" I say. "It was a little boy. He said he was real sorry, but he was just popping firecrackers `cause it was his birthday." "Oh." "I confiscated the whole lot of them and had them destroyed at the fire station," he tells me. I thank him. Convincing myself that I've somehow made the world a better place, I finally go back to sleep. |