Friday, March 17, 2006

Cry Me a River

Knock, knock, knock.

I awake with a start and then lie there, waiting, listening intently. Maybe the cats just knocked something over in the other room?

Hum of the refridgerator. Ticking of clock.

Knock, knock, knock.

My eyes fly open as I reach over for the bedside clock. It says: 2:00 am. Who in the hell is knocking on my door in the middle of the night? Is something wrong?! Is someone hurt?! My mind is ablaze with worry and fear.

I grab my sweatshirt off the back of the door as I walk out into the hallway where I meet my groggy housemate and my barking dog.

Mikey: "What the hell?"

Me: "Who the fuck is at our door?"

I go to the front window, the one with no blinds, I see no one on the porch. I flip the light on and peer out the peep hole. Still, no one. I turn back to Mikey, "There is no one even out there." I look again and see someone approaching the front gate. He is wearing a baseball cap and a track suit jacket. He must be cold.

I open the door slightly and stick my head out. "What do you want?" I ask. He responds hesitantly, still staying back at the gate, not entering, "Does River live here?" Annoyed, I say, "No. No one by that name lives here." Him: "Are you sure?" Me: "Uh, YES, I am sure. It is just me and my housemate who is not named River." Him: "He really doesn't live here? Are you sure?" Losing all patience, "No one fucking lives here by that name. It is two in the morning. You shouldn't be knocking on my fucking door." My bad habit of swearing rears its ugly head.

He backs off sort of apologizing and I shut and lock the door. Mikey and I try to calm Angelou and attempt to locate the cats. I see someone approaching the side door as I walk down the hall. I go over to that door and turn on the light. The same guy comes up to the door and starts to speak but I can't hear what he is saying because of the barking. He is pointing at a beat up burgundy two door parked on the street and is asking, "Is that River's car?"

He's a kid. He can't be more than 20. He looks freezing and scared. I lift the curtain from the window and say, "No. I already told you that no one named River lives here. That car belongs to a woman." My exasperation is mixed with a twinge of sympathy. "It looks like his car. Are you sure he doesn't live here?" Ok, exasperation is outweighing the sympathy. "Listen. I told you. No one named River lives here. There is just me and my housemate and the woman who owns that car who lives in the back with her girlfriend." He says, "I am gay too." Like somehow he had found a secret code that would get him the magic information. Like I was suddenly going to say, "Oh you are gay too!? Then River DOES live here."

He proceeds to try to tell me his story, all through a closed and locked door, but all I can make out is "left here . . . waiting . . . freezing . . . phone . . . dead . . ." So his cell is dead and he is stranded. He's young and gay and looks harmless. I offer for him to use my phone. Yes, I am a sucker. Besides, I already know sleep is lost to me. I have a horrible time falling back to sleep when I wake up in the middle of the night.

He comes around to the front door and I let him use my phone. As he dials the first number off an impossible tiny scrap of paper, he gets the message: disconnected. He tries the other number, which, surprise, surprise, doesn't work either. He fills me in: He met a guy and the guy's dad (supposedly) in the Kinko's parking lot. He left his car there (with the keys locked in it) and they dropped him off in this neighborhood telling him to meet them here. At my house. He was stranded, new to town, his only friend was his housemate who was out of town for the night. He had $10 on him that he hoped would get him a cab ride back to his car. As he called the cab company from my phone, he said, "I got so played. I gave that guy $90 for pot."

How is THAT for a "just say no to drugs" public service announcement?

(I am tired today. So very tired.)

(Does my shirt speak the truth? Why didn't I know there was a stain on it? I really am not a slob. Promise.)

17 comments:

alissa said...

I love your shirt and if it makes you feel any better I dripped ranch all over my shirt at lunch (how many points are french fries with ranch again???)

Anonymous said...

Thanks for covering for me, Sizz.

River.

Jenny said...

i almost felt sorry for him too.
omg. so santa cruz.

Clink said...

I would've been scared out of my mind that this guy wanted to hurt me. But then again, maybe people knocking on doors at 2am in Manhattan is a little different.

amy said...

I never would have opened up the door!!!! Regardless if he was gay or not.

Claire said...

That used to happen to me when I lived in a college town. 1 or 2 AM, bam bam bam. Always the same shouting through door story: pizza delivery. What address? You're at the wrong place, or sometimes: I didn't order one. What? I didn't order anything!!! No, really, I DIDN'T ORDER ANYTHING!!!!!

So annoying. And unnerving because I lived alone in the 'hood back then.

Bob Merrick said...

I'm tired too. But I was out drinking and dancing at that hour. Happy Blarney Stones Day (mine came in the mail yesterday!)
xox

Jacynth said...

Why didn't you tell him River Phoenix died? God, you led him on! :) You are such a good person!

Dave2 said...

Stoopid is as stoopid does, in this case it's $90 worth of stoopid.

Now that your home is known as a place to buy pot, maybe you should start selling? It looks so glamorous on episodes of "Weeds".

Brookelina said...

All I could think about was how crazy you are to have let him in. And then I realized I'd have done the same thing too. We must have sucker tattooed invisibly on our foreheads, for only sucker users to see.

Nihilistic said...

Poor little gay boy!! He's lucky he knocked on your door! Great pic of you by the way!!

Rabbit said...

So it really wasn't a circus freak?

Maybe they prefer windows.

gorillabuns said...

i love the shirt. i need one for myself too! it can be the irish girls uniform...

okay, i'm going to have to say, don't open your door to strangers!!! i won't go into my back story, but just don't. not a good thing. gay, drunk or whatever, you never know what the motive is!!!!

i hope you had several drinks in my honor!!! happy st. patty's day!

Mikey said...

He's lucky he didn't knock on my door. If he was cute I might have invited him to stay the night. LOLOL If he really was over 18.

Bre said...

Ahhh the future of our nation

Melissa said...

It's hell to be young and stupid...

btw, Tag! You're it. (Don't hate me.)

sue said...

We used to live on a T-intersection and everytime some idiot got drunk and stupid (we live near a college town) they would go off the end and come knock on our door. They never wanted to call the cops (because of drunk and stupid) but wanted us to "get out the tractor and pull them out". Okay, NO. We don't keep tractors at our home, and if we did we wouldn't get them out at 2 a.m. to drag your sorry ass out of the ditch so you can go drive drunk some more. Yes, you've hit a nerve.

However, we would open our door and let them use the phone. Dumb, I know. Our German Shepherd usually kept a pretty close eye on them, tho'...