there was a knock at the door. i didn't recognize the person through the peephole, but my big clumsy steps were a dead giveaway that i was home. i figured i would kindly send off the jehova's witness with a polite 'not interested'. or tell the girl selling magazines door to door that i wasn't going to be falling for that scam. or take the pizza coupons and promise to frequent local establishments more often. or explain that this is the wrong apartment and her boyfriend's cousin is upstairs. or anything else to make this strange woman go away so that i could go back to watching tv and thinking obsessive thoughts in peace.
'um. hi. can i speak to betterideas'
'what do you need?'
'uh. are you betterideas? from a little town in a big mitten?' *
'okay, seriously, who are you?'
'um. i... i'm sorry i think i have the wrong betterideas'*
obviously she was a cop. she was the decoy sent to verify that i was home. in about 2 minutes there would be more of them. they'd break down my door and slap the cuffs on me. they'd have riot gear and they'd tear up my apartment and scare my cats and drag me down to the station. ohmygod. i'd be thrown into a cell and there would be a toilet right in the middle of the room! all the other prisoners are making fun of me because i can't stop crying. no, i'm not crying. i'm sobbing. they are laughing at me while i'm sobbing in the corner. and everything smells like pee. and i didn't even do anything. i don't know why i'm in jail or why i'm not allowed to make a phone call. it's not right. i'm innocent!
obviously she was some facebook stalker. we went to high school together and we've been talking on facebook and somehow she's found where i live. probably tracking me down by the places i've been. or by the backgrounds of my pictures. she's managed to pinpoint my address. and now she's here. she's convinced that i wronged her in high school and she's going to make me pay. she could have just shot me dead when i answered the door, but no, she wants to see me suffer. she's going to boil my cats. that sick bitch is going to torture me for things that she thinks i did to her in high school. she's held a grudge for 13 years and now she's ready to make me pay. she's probably already slashed my tires. i can't even jump out of the window because i'd break a leg landing.
obviously she was...
my brain would not stop. i picked up my phone and tried to call the boy. my shaking hands were making it difficult to manage buttons. he needed to tell me who she was and why she was there, or at the very least tell me that she was not the people that i had decided she was. but he was working. i figured leaving a message would at least get the things out of my head and on to the phone. and then i could start to
i was gripping the phone so tight i thought it would break into a million unusable pieces. i tried to tell him that she was back, but only squeaking noises were coming out. it was downright
'what? who are you? do i need to call the police?'
the words came out of my mouth. they were high pitched and marinated in terror, but they came out nonetheless. my stomach was creeping up my throat as my tongue was swelling up in my mouth. i guess the pressure of the two dislodged the little nugget of language.
'i. i'm sorry. i.. can i.. i.. '
'what do you want?'
'um. okay. um. my name is lisa. ithinki'myoursister.'
*names and places have been changed to protect the.. names and places. certainly not the innocent.