Sunday, July 13, 2003
Carol, are you home?
So, what does one do when they discover they have an intermittant stalker?
Today, at fuckoff'o'clock in the morning (tm Sep), otherwise known as 4:30am in these parts, the doorbell rang ever so loudly. I was sleeping on my lovely new-to-me $20 sofa that I bought from a neighbor, as I am wont to do during these horridly hot evenings (the sleeping, I mean, not the buying of $20 sofas), since my bedroom fan stopped working and the only air conditioning in the apartment is in the living room (I even moved my alarm clock to the living room, at least until I can get around to buying a new bedroom fan). I stirred, rolled off the sofa, thanked heaven that my robe was nearby, since the nightshirt I was wearing barely covered my ass, and then only if I didn't bend over or reach up. Pulling on the robe, I padded over to the front door and, disregarding my first instinct to pull aside the curtains on the door window, I instead peered through the peep-hole.
There, standing on my doorstep, was this guy. A guy that I used to know, with whom I had sex once about four years ago (in my old Escort, of all places). The sex was drunken on his part and self-pity-filled on mine. A guy that, though we had exchanged a few e-mails the first year or so afterwards, I've not seen since then, admittedly more from my efforts than his. A guy who had, about one or two years before, shown up on my doorstep in the early evening with no prior warning, spending ten minutes ringing my doorbell and knocking on my door and calling my name through the mail slot and going to my bedroom window, attempting to peer through, then walking back to the front door to continue with the doorbell ringing. I managed to keep hidden, because I was in no mood to deal with him (this was when I was going through my depressed state).
My eyes widened. I couldn't believe that he was ringing my doorbell again, at such an early hour! I probably should have just opened the door and told him I didn't appreciate his sudden appearance when most decent folks were trying to sleep. I mean, unless he carried a weapon, which I doubted, I was sure that I was in no physical danger. He's approximately my height (5'6") and far scrawnier than I am. I probably outweigh him by about 80 pounds. And I'm fairly strong. But that would have involved confrontation and I tend to abhor a great deal of confrontation, especially when I'm barely fucking awake!
No, instead I crept back to my sofa and made myself as small as possible, tucking my feet into the cushions and thankful my robe was covering most of my legs. Then, as the next ten minutes passed and he continued with the calling and doorbell ringing and knocking and such, I mentally smacked myself as I remembered that three of the four living room window blinds were somewhat open and, while two of them were directly over the back of the sofa and I knew that by smushing myself up to the back, I'd be difficult to see, one of the windows had a bird's eye view of the length of the sofa, despite the shrubbery outside. Unfortunately I was afraid to grab the sheet nearby and pull it over myself, because that might make a sound and, with my windows partially open, sound would be bad. So I made myself even smaller as I heard him leave the front door, walk to the aforementioned window, then call my name through it. I couldn't tell if he could see me or not, but I didn't move to check. He went back to the front door to continue with the ringing and the knocking and the calling through the mail slot.
The entire time I was thinking, what if I were in Fresno, like I was originally supposed to be before the plans were canceled? What if I had moved away? Thank heaven I don't have my car anymore, if he went to the back he could see it was carless and maybe think I wasn't home. And does he really think that by showing up unannouced that I'd be inclined to partake of what I can only presume to be a booty call? And what if he's done this before on nights when I really wasn't at home? How many times has he done this, unbeknownst to me?
Finally, after an eternity, I heard the screen door close one last time and I think I heard a car drive away. I think I stayed in that position for another five or ten minutes, I'm not really sure, before I grabbed the sheet, covered myself with it, turned over and fell back to sleep.
Oh shit. I just remembered that on my front door window is an emergency sticker stating how many pets I have so that, heaven forfend, if there's a fire or something the firemen (or whoever) know that I have cats an I want them rescued. And on the sticker is my work number, so that they know who to call in case something happens while I'm at work. Did StalkerBoy take that number? The last he knew I was working at Disney, over two years ago.
I so don't want to have to move because of this. I have a nice apartment that's a great price for today's obscenely expensive rental market. I'm comfortable here. I've been here for over seven years and I'm not really looking to move unless I can get a roommate.
Should this happen again, and it very well might, I will confront him. Because this? Is beyond the pale. I'll just make sure I have my crowbar in hand. Just in case.
Today, at fuckoff'o'clock in the morning (tm Sep), otherwise known as 4:30am in these parts, the doorbell rang ever so loudly. I was sleeping on my lovely new-to-me $20 sofa that I bought from a neighbor, as I am wont to do during these horridly hot evenings (the sleeping, I mean, not the buying of $20 sofas), since my bedroom fan stopped working and the only air conditioning in the apartment is in the living room (I even moved my alarm clock to the living room, at least until I can get around to buying a new bedroom fan). I stirred, rolled off the sofa, thanked heaven that my robe was nearby, since the nightshirt I was wearing barely covered my ass, and then only if I didn't bend over or reach up. Pulling on the robe, I padded over to the front door and, disregarding my first instinct to pull aside the curtains on the door window, I instead peered through the peep-hole.
There, standing on my doorstep, was this guy. A guy that I used to know, with whom I had sex once about four years ago (in my old Escort, of all places). The sex was drunken on his part and self-pity-filled on mine. A guy that, though we had exchanged a few e-mails the first year or so afterwards, I've not seen since then, admittedly more from my efforts than his. A guy who had, about one or two years before, shown up on my doorstep in the early evening with no prior warning, spending ten minutes ringing my doorbell and knocking on my door and calling my name through the mail slot and going to my bedroom window, attempting to peer through, then walking back to the front door to continue with the doorbell ringing. I managed to keep hidden, because I was in no mood to deal with him (this was when I was going through my depressed state).
My eyes widened. I couldn't believe that he was ringing my doorbell again, at such an early hour! I probably should have just opened the door and told him I didn't appreciate his sudden appearance when most decent folks were trying to sleep. I mean, unless he carried a weapon, which I doubted, I was sure that I was in no physical danger. He's approximately my height (5'6") and far scrawnier than I am. I probably outweigh him by about 80 pounds. And I'm fairly strong. But that would have involved confrontation and I tend to abhor a great deal of confrontation, especially when I'm barely fucking awake!
No, instead I crept back to my sofa and made myself as small as possible, tucking my feet into the cushions and thankful my robe was covering most of my legs. Then, as the next ten minutes passed and he continued with the calling and doorbell ringing and knocking and such, I mentally smacked myself as I remembered that three of the four living room window blinds were somewhat open and, while two of them were directly over the back of the sofa and I knew that by smushing myself up to the back, I'd be difficult to see, one of the windows had a bird's eye view of the length of the sofa, despite the shrubbery outside. Unfortunately I was afraid to grab the sheet nearby and pull it over myself, because that might make a sound and, with my windows partially open, sound would be bad. So I made myself even smaller as I heard him leave the front door, walk to the aforementioned window, then call my name through it. I couldn't tell if he could see me or not, but I didn't move to check. He went back to the front door to continue with the ringing and the knocking and the calling through the mail slot.
The entire time I was thinking, what if I were in Fresno, like I was originally supposed to be before the plans were canceled? What if I had moved away? Thank heaven I don't have my car anymore, if he went to the back he could see it was carless and maybe think I wasn't home. And does he really think that by showing up unannouced that I'd be inclined to partake of what I can only presume to be a booty call? And what if he's done this before on nights when I really wasn't at home? How many times has he done this, unbeknownst to me?
Finally, after an eternity, I heard the screen door close one last time and I think I heard a car drive away. I think I stayed in that position for another five or ten minutes, I'm not really sure, before I grabbed the sheet, covered myself with it, turned over and fell back to sleep.
Oh shit. I just remembered that on my front door window is an emergency sticker stating how many pets I have so that, heaven forfend, if there's a fire or something the firemen (or whoever) know that I have cats an I want them rescued. And on the sticker is my work number, so that they know who to call in case something happens while I'm at work. Did StalkerBoy take that number? The last he knew I was working at Disney, over two years ago.
I so don't want to have to move because of this. I have a nice apartment that's a great price for today's obscenely expensive rental market. I'm comfortable here. I've been here for over seven years and I'm not really looking to move unless I can get a roommate.
Should this happen again, and it very well might, I will confront him. Because this? Is beyond the pale. I'll just make sure I have my crowbar in hand. Just in case.
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United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
