It’s 7pm, I’m decked out in jammies (cuz that’s how I roll) watching My Name is Earl with the Mrs and Kid Cheesesteak, when the doorbell rings.
It’s the police, doing a welfare check on my next door neighbor, a 33 year old single black woman. She already lived there when we moved in 13 years ago, it’s her dad’s house and her grandma’s before that. She lives alone, her parents moved to Maryland sometime before we moved in, but held onto the house for her. She’s college educated, has a job in NYC, a boyfriend, no kids, we don’t see too much of her, that’s how NYC schedules work for young professionals.
Seems she’s been missing since 6:30am, and her friends reported it to the police. We try to call her dad, no luck, maybe my number is out of date. We tell the police that no, we don’t suspect drug use, no sketchy people going in and out, just a quiet neighbor, you know? The police tell us they’ll likely force the door to check inside, and go on their way.
8pm, a fire truck has come and gone, to help force the door, I’m sure. The Mrs. is a wreck with worry. The bell rings again, we figure it’s the police. It isn’t, it’s my neighbor. She was walking back from the bus stop (we have a NYC commuter bus that passes nearby, convenient) and saw her front door open and empty police car out front, figured she better ask us what was going on before surprising a couple of cops by walking in the door. Not a bad choice all in all. My wife hugs her, cries and says “I’m coming with you.” I stay in with our kid because, you know, jammies.
Turns out our neighbor left her phone on the kitchen table when she got on the bus this morning. She said to herself “damn, this is going to be a bad day, my whole life is on that phone.”
So true.