I'm laying in my bed enjoying that quality slack time before work. Letting my mind wander through the glorious yellow that slips through the storm window. Watching the light reflect off the ice on the roof and enjoying the nothing, the most relaxing 15 minutes of my day.
My tranquilaty is broken by
voices. My breathing stops and I listen closer. Yep, someone is talking in the next room. I slowly get out of bed and creep to the door, pressing my ear to it and holding my breath. I hear a quite voice rambling out sounds that I don't recognize and too quickly to discern.
I open the door just a crack and peer into the apartment. A man with a
leather jacket and slicked hair pulled into a ponytail is standing in my kitchen with his back to me. I close the door as quitely as I can, making sure to let the door knob creep back into the closed position.
What do I do? I only saw one but he's talking to someone in there. Do I yell? No he doesn't know I'm home, what if he has a
weapon? I wish to hell my phone was connected. I could just call the police and hide in my closet like some scared
grandmother who hears something in the basement. I consider the possibility of sneaking down the stairs but I'm sure he will see me. I definately don't want to be shot or stabbed in the back. If my end is coming now I want to see every
terribly beautiful second of it.
I know what I must do. I grab the end of my broken bed frame, not the best of weapons but I'm sure it'll make a nice crack along his
skull if that is what it comes to. I stand motionless next to the door. Staring at the door knob, hoping that it doesn't move but knowing it will. A few minutes go by. I hear footsteps moving closer to my room. My hands tremble, I adjust my
sweaty grip. My eyes
burn with tears. My breathing quickens, heart ponding in my chest. ( How can he not hear my heart?) Seething black anger wraps it's
tendrils around my brain as the knob turns.
I am Godzilla! You are Japan! flashes through my mind giving momentary pardon to my terror and spreading a
maniacal grin across my face.
The door opens frame by frame. I take a step foward and swing my club in an arc of
bloody seething death. My lungs pushing all the air out in a
primal scream.
I stop in mid swing almost falling over trying to control my momentum. The man I saw earlier is bending over in front of me, helping an old shaking woman off the floor. Behind them another man stands open mouthed in a business suit.
"Holy Shit! Do you live here?"
"Yes, what are you doing in my house?"
"I'm showing it . Didn't Jerry (the landlord) tell you I was showing the house today? Jesus Christ man!"
"Uh...no he didn't. Sorry about that. Are you ok ma'am?"
The old woman finally gets to her feet. Still shaking she heads for the door never looking or saying anything. Her knuckles white on the ponytail mans coat sleeve. They head down the stairs, the realtor apologizing the whole way and giving me the
ole stink eye. "Sorry" I say one last time, mostly to a slamming door. Well that could have gone better, I think as I get ready for work.