(no subject)
I just called the cops on the neighbors again.[1]
Our landlord came by a couple of weeks ago to take down the windowboxes, because painters were coming. He told us that one of the neighbors was moving out of state, and that the other one wanted to renew the lease in her own name. Did we think that would be a problem?
No, we stupidly said. If they're separating, that should take care of it.
Meanwhile, they kept fighting - mostly late at night and early in the morning - and we kept hearing them. But it never crossed the "I have to call the police now" line, so I just gritted my teeth and waited.
Tonight the screaming argument started around 6:45, as Michael was leaving for a church Board meeting and I was taking Alex upstairs for her bath. They were still at it when I brought her downstairs, and worse - there was an awful, shuddering wailing. I heard... things... being slammed around.
"The wild things roared their terrible roars, and gnashed their terrible teeth!" I read to Alex, raising my voice so that she wouldn't hear the crying. Except that, really, I was trying to block it out for myself. She didn't seem to notice.
"...and into the night of his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him. And it was still hot. Okay, Mama needs to make a phone call now."
9-1-1, I punched with shaking fingers. I told the dispatchers that my neighbors were having what seemed to be a violent fight. Weapons? she asked me. I told her no, I didn't think so, but that there was a history of domestic violence.
Then I sat down and read Alex another story, every nerve in my body tensed to see flashing lights outside the window. She wanted more books, but instead I hauled her upstairs. Fortunately, she didn't want a long bedtime routine. "Alex crib," she suggested as soon as we entered her room, and I was happy to comply.
This time the cop stayed a while. It sounded like one of the neighbors came out on the street to argue with him at length about whether or not the other one was going to come out and talk to him too - I heard him say "Well, her story might be different from your story, and that might be different from upstairs' story. I'm just doing my job." He knocked on my door at one point to ask me to repeat exactly what I'd heard, and I think that one of them was in the street while he did it - so if we ever had even a thin veneer of confidentiality to these complaints, that's certainly gone now.
He left without arresting anyone. I called the landlords. I am feeling awfully jumpy about being in the house alone. I hate that we have a blind front door - no peephole, and no overlooking window. I just bewildered the hell out of someone from the O'Malley campaign who'd come to drop off a sign for our railing, because I insisted that he shout his identification and purpose through the door.
This afternoon at work I found myself oddly tense - shoulders hunched, back aching, anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. And then I realized why: some women a couple of offices down were having a loud, cheerful conversation. Hearing muffled raised voices of African-American women was sending me over the edge into a fight-or-flight response.
I just can't take much more of this.
[1] Backstory 1, 2, 3.
Our landlord came by a couple of weeks ago to take down the windowboxes, because painters were coming. He told us that one of the neighbors was moving out of state, and that the other one wanted to renew the lease in her own name. Did we think that would be a problem?
No, we stupidly said. If they're separating, that should take care of it.
Meanwhile, they kept fighting - mostly late at night and early in the morning - and we kept hearing them. But it never crossed the "I have to call the police now" line, so I just gritted my teeth and waited.
Tonight the screaming argument started around 6:45, as Michael was leaving for a church Board meeting and I was taking Alex upstairs for her bath. They were still at it when I brought her downstairs, and worse - there was an awful, shuddering wailing. I heard... things... being slammed around.
"The wild things roared their terrible roars, and gnashed their terrible teeth!" I read to Alex, raising my voice so that she wouldn't hear the crying. Except that, really, I was trying to block it out for myself. She didn't seem to notice.
"...and into the night of his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him. And it was still hot. Okay, Mama needs to make a phone call now."
9-1-1, I punched with shaking fingers. I told the dispatchers that my neighbors were having what seemed to be a violent fight. Weapons? she asked me. I told her no, I didn't think so, but that there was a history of domestic violence.
Then I sat down and read Alex another story, every nerve in my body tensed to see flashing lights outside the window. She wanted more books, but instead I hauled her upstairs. Fortunately, she didn't want a long bedtime routine. "Alex crib," she suggested as soon as we entered her room, and I was happy to comply.
This time the cop stayed a while. It sounded like one of the neighbors came out on the street to argue with him at length about whether or not the other one was going to come out and talk to him too - I heard him say "Well, her story might be different from your story, and that might be different from upstairs' story. I'm just doing my job." He knocked on my door at one point to ask me to repeat exactly what I'd heard, and I think that one of them was in the street while he did it - so if we ever had even a thin veneer of confidentiality to these complaints, that's certainly gone now.
He left without arresting anyone. I called the landlords. I am feeling awfully jumpy about being in the house alone. I hate that we have a blind front door - no peephole, and no overlooking window. I just bewildered the hell out of someone from the O'Malley campaign who'd come to drop off a sign for our railing, because I insisted that he shout his identification and purpose through the door.
This afternoon at work I found myself oddly tense - shoulders hunched, back aching, anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. And then I realized why: some women a couple of offices down were having a loud, cheerful conversation. Hearing muffled raised voices of African-American women was sending me over the edge into a fight-or-flight response.
I just can't take much more of this.
[1] Backstory 1, 2, 3.