Guarded

July 6, 2013

The sliding of small pebbles across the sole of a soft shoe, creak of the gate, metal against metal as the hinge opens wide enough for a body to slip thru, it isn’t re-latched so it catches my attention. The covert cat drops down from one window ledge, to cross my body and glide into the open gap at the rear window, above my head, to pay attention to the figure in the dark heading to the back door. I see black Keds with white laces that catch the dim light, the shadow of pants and light t-shirt, face fades into the gloom. His cell phone flips open and a long, earnest, pleading conversation ensues yet I cannot make out the individual words, save an emphasized syllable or two. He leaves the same way he came. A sigh of exasperation escapes me as the gate gapes wide open as he departs. I heave myself out of the bed, not disturbing the multitudes of pets in my room and slither across the livingroom to peer out the front, observing the figure brazingly waltzing down the street on foot, after 2:30am. A loud, brisk call to Tyrus, who slunk down to the basement to escape the scary fireworks, and journey downstairs to retrieve his large cedar-filled bed. Feel more comforted by his presence in the dark room with the slow whir of the ceiling fan. Check the bolt on the back door and return to my crisp sheets and churning cool air, to roll over the motivation behind a pre-dawn visit. I vow I will make a 911 call the next time it happens. I don’t need to wait for another day to pass, for moments later, the perp returns with a white plastic sack and presumably Styrofoam cup in his hands. Same routine yet now he jumps up onto the wrought iron rail, pushes his way up the electric meter box and skips up onto the balcony above my head. I reach for my cell phone and make the call, heading into the livingroom to prevent the delinquent man from overhearing. The dispatcher is calm and steady in her questioning. A squad car arrives out of sight, down the street, and four police officers make their way with beams of light to invade around the house, flaming the siding, doors, and windows with intensity.  I can hear the climber pace the floor yet he doesn’t show himself. Eventually a substantial officer knocks on my door, absorbs my detailed story and suggests I talk with the landlord. The crew wanders around for a bit, visits exuberantly under the street lights, and departs. Must have nodded-off after 4:00am and splayed out of bed at 8:00 to let the miniature wrestlers out for a pee. Groggy and disgruntled, I suck down coffee laced with milk and sugar while contemplating my options. First things first, I have to rescue my black sandals from the fireworks observation area, where I tucked them under the chair, and promptly forgot about them as we moved back to get a better view. Hope they don’t feel too abandoned and take it out on me, on the Jerry Springer Show.