It’s 6:47am and I haven’t slept a wink. No, it’s not insomnia this time.
After a long, hard day of work, I went to bed. My husband was already sound asleep. I lay awake, listening to the noises of the rowdy neighbours outside.
I hear a door open. Weird. Sounds like ours. Maybe it’s the neighbours upstairs getting in late, however, since their door is next to ours. Man, they’re making a lot of noise. I hear weird scuffling sounds. I wonder if perhaps someone is trying to steal my bike. Well! I’ll go out there and give them a scare!
I tiptoe out to the front room and slip stealthily up to the window. I peek carefully out of the blinds.
Instead of seeing someone trying to steal my bike, I see a pair of naked, hairy legs… and my screen being torn from the window!
My moment of heroism? I didn’t think twice about it: I flicked off the outdoor light. ZOOM! The Streak dashed down the stairs and darted into the back alley, heading west. I immediately awoke my husband and called 9-1-1.
The police were here in under five minutes, took care of everything, wrote down my description of the hairy legs (what little good it did) and told us they had spotted a naked man darting into the alley. They brought the K-9 units with them, but as far as I know, didn’t catch him.
The officer who spoke with me told me that a man wandering around naked, at this hour, in the freezing-ass cold, is likely to be someone high as a kite and we were likely a random target: maybe thinking this was his buddies’ place, maybe he used to live here, hell, maybe he thought it was his own place. But the dude was most certainly not right.
Unfortunately, even with this small comfort, even though I scared him off, even though it could have been worse, and even with the probability of it not happening again - I’m not right, either, now. I am fucked right now. I know, I know, getting upset about it does nothing. But shite. I burst into uncontrollable, ridiculous tears. I’m not sad. I’m angry. I’m angry that some random jerkoff tried to get in, making me feel unsafe. We were locked up tight, but I still feel rotten. I’m angry, angry, most of all, because he made me feel scared. That for one brief moment, I thought he had come for me and mine.
I’m angry at myself for not being able to sleep.
We’re moving. This is the first break-in attempt, but not the first random knockings on our windows and door in the middle of the night. I’m not sticking around for another attempt of any sort, no matter how remote the chances may be.
Puke.
I’ve told my husband between panic spazzes all night tonight that whenever I settle down - this is going to be funny as all hell. Naked man? Me sitting up all night with the phone ready to redail 9-1-1 and a bottle of Dirtex to spray in his face if he tried anything funny (even with the police crawling all over the neighbourhood)? The future grandkids will piss themselves at grandma’s story, I’m sure.