At times I wonder if I’ve slipped into speaking Sumerian. Possibly a past-life resurfacing; in this one I speak only English. Or perhaps I’m mumbling unawares. I try to enunciate. Yet there are individuals who respond like I said something else altogether. Maybe they only tune in to every 5th word, then fill in the blanks like a Mad Lib. Or they’re bad guessers at what I’m likely to be saying. Instances of me having all the straight lines & the other is a deadpan comedian, in situations where it would be detrimental were I to laugh. Ludicrous exchanges, my side of the dialogue Realist, theirs Dada. Or maybe Abstract Expressionist, just spattering words in a Pollock conversation.

For many years I lived in a 2nd floor apartment on the Interbay side of Queen Anne Hill. A small building, only 6 units, 2 per floor. Mine was in the back, accessed on the side by an outer staircase leading to a porch. My front door faced the other unit’s back door, my bedroom window in-between.

I always knew when Susan (my neighbor, & I’m just guessing her name) was doing laundry. That’s the only time she used her back door. The laundry room was in the basement, the stairs on this side of the building the only ones that went down there. My back door let out onto my deck & fire-escape stairs. Neither of my doors were behind a security door, but since my unit was at the rear & facing a greenbelt, it was secluded. I never felt unsafe. Neither door was visible from the street.

Even though I had a medium-sized dog, Sadie (I called her Sada), she was never interested in who was at the door unless it was pizza delivery. She didn’t bark when people were on the stairs or at the door, therefore hardly a deterrent to someone with nefarious intent.

One night we were blissfully snoozing away when a relentless thumping woke us. Sada barely raised her head, then lie back down, shooting an ‘Are you going to get that?’ look my way. Thanks, Ms. Descended-From-Wolves. I feel so protected. I glance at the clock. 3:30 am!

I immediately can tell the person isn’t at my door, but Susan’s. I peeked through the blinds but couldn’t see anything; I turned the porch light off at night else it glared in the window. Then I hear a wasted male voice slurring pleas for Susan to let him in. Now fully conscious, I remember that Susan moved out 2 weeks ago. That apartment was vacant. Clearly she hadn’t told Mr. Besotted. I wonder why?

First I thought he’d give up & leave. After 5 minutes, I began to doubt that. By 10 minutes I’d had enough & piped up with “Hey drunk guy– Susan moved out. Piss off!” I briefly rued my choice of words, imagining revenge peeing on the porch. I hear a couple of shuffling steps. Then the thumping resumes on MY door. I fling the ‘oh, hell no’ question: “You are not seriously knocking on my door now?!” At his reply “Yeah, baby” I bark back “Wrong answer, asshole!” & pick up the phone.

This doesn’t warrant 911 in my opinion, so I call the local precinct. Though he’s jiggled the doorknob, I’m not afraid. It’s a strong door & jamb, deadbolted when I go to bed. I’m annoyed, is what. The sheer gall, at one point he actually asks for my name! As if! I tell the dispatcher all that’s transpired, making it clear I don’t feel threatened, but this drunk jerk needs removal. I fantasized yanking my door open & pushing him down the stairs (I didn’t tell the dispatcher this), but not having to explain why there’s a dead man on the ground below my door was preferable. Think how fewer people there’d be if ‘he bugged me’ was a legitimate murder defense.

The cops show up mere moments later even though I stated ‘no emergency.’ Heard them practically carrying him down the stairs. One of the officers returned to Susan’s back door & knocked. Then he knocked on my door. He asked me for a rundown. I told him the whole story, I left nothing out. The following could go down in the annals of Cognitively Impaired Officers in the SPD [brackets contain responses inside my head]:

Cop: Well, the guy seems intoxicated. Claimed his girlfriend lives here.

Me: [did he listen to anything I said?] His girlfriend lived next door. She moved out last month.

Cop: So he’s not your boyfriend?

Me: [are we having the same conversation?] I don’t know him. His girlfriend lived there (I point to her door).

Cop: I tried knocking on that door, but she didn’t answer.

Me: [maybe I’m dreaming. Does he know he’s not making sense?] Because she moved out last month. I told him that. Then he knocked on MY door & tried the knob.

Cop: Wasn’t your door locked? You should keep your doors locked, miss.

Me: […duh] Yes, it was locked. That’s why he couldn’t get in.

Cop: So he never came in? Do you know this man?

Me: [is this an attempt at entrapment?] No. His voice wasn’t familiar, & I didn’t see him. I never opened the door.

Cop: You’d never seen him before? You didn’t know him, as a friend of Susan’s?

Me: [OMG! I’m gonna lose it] No. I didn’t know her either. She was just my neighbor.

I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. I was either going to start giggling uncontrollably, or ask if he, at any time, has ever passed a hearing test. Luckily the building manager, finally woken by the noise & squad car lights, was ready to speak to him.

Much to my dismay he came back a few minutes later for his closing remarks, delivered as though I’d grossly overestimated the threat level. I had to receive this with a straight face: “Well, miss, we’ve determined the man who disturbed you tonight was just intoxicated. You weren’t in any immediate danger. The manager said Susan has moved off the premises. The perpetrator said he would have left if he’d known that. He didn’t mean to scare you. If something like this happens again, you can just call the precinct directly. No need to use the emergency number. Keep your doors locked now. Have a good evening.”

Well, I feel thoroughly protected & served now that he solved that mystery!

P.S. Trouble deciphering this story? Sumerian-to-English translations are available for a small fee.