I have some kind of [undiagnosed] mental disorder that requires me to save things obsessively.  Since the passing of my father, I have been reading old emails.  In ~2008 I was taking a creative writing class at the local community college and would send all of my assignments to my dad to proofread.  Though I don’t now recall the prompt, this was one that I’d thought I’d lost to an imploding computer.  It is based on real life events, maybe someday i’ll finish it. For now, I’ll store it here…

    The rows of flourescent tubes on the high ceiling gave enough reflection on the tinted glass that I could see my father on the bench behind me.  I could tell by the way his head was hanging that he had fallen asleep, and even though I knew no one was watching my back, I wasn’t worried.  I stood at that window on the second floor of the courthouse looking at the people walking through the parking lot and searched for one word to describe how I felt.  For weeks I had been terrified, too scared to sleep and some days, too scared to even go home.  Today I didn’t feel fear.  There had been moments of anger and having no other release, no resolve, the fury would come out in tears as I’d sit and tremble with rage.  But today I wasn’t mad.  I had an odd sense of peace and wondered if I was confident in the justice system or just too tired to feel anything anymore.

    I had left the comforts of my dad’s home less than a year ago and moved into my first apartment.  It was literally on the wrong side of the tracks in an old run down part of town, but it was all I could afford.  The place was big and I had painted all the walls and ceilings, adding homey touches to make it comfortable.  Within a few weeks I had seen all of the neighbors in the surrounding 8 units and even made friends with the woman directly across the parking lot.  She was the grandmother type with grandchildren about my same age, very sweet but with a biting edge.  Maybe because we both lived alone we felt obligated to watch out for one another and immediately exchanged phone numbers.  Who knew how I’d come to regret handing her the white square with the strawberry print border where I’d carefully written my home phone number.  That piece of paper that she promptly put on the front of her refrigerator for quick and immediate access.

    Not long after I had moved into my apartment Martha’s grandson moved in with her.  She had told me he was coming, explaining that he had nowhere else to go.  She assured me that he was harmless and he had a good heart, it was his parents’ fault that he was always in trouble.  In surprising detail she told me of her son’s failed marriage, his ex-wife’s drug abuse and the series of events that found this young man homeless.  Having had peers that had suffered the same upbringing, I thought I was well prepared for whatever nonsense this guy would bring with him.  I expected a kid in his mid-teens, sneaking beers and smoking pot, annoying the neighbors with his loud music and frequent fights with his guardian over trivial things like curfews.  And in the beginning, I was right.

    I can tell you it was November 14.  I can tell you it was morning.  I can tell you almost word for word the exchange at my front door.  But what I still don’t know is how it ever came to be.  Shaun had been living with Martha for about 6 weeks at that point.  I’d nod a hello in his direction when I came home from work.  When Martha yelled loud enough Monday night, Shaun would bring my garbage can up from the curb at the same time he was retrieving hers.  We were not friends.  We rarely exchanged more than one sentence at a time so I can not tell you what made Shaun decide to kill me……

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    Saturday, November 14, I was awakened to the sound of a knock on my front door.  My boyfriend, Mike, and I had gotten in a big fight several days earlier, so I thought it was him coming to reconcile.  After all, it was my birthday,  if nothing else, he was probably coming to take me to breakfast.  Disheveled, I opened the door to find Shaun standing there with tears in his eyes.  Confused, I looked past him to see if there was any activity downstairs in the parking lot between my apartment and Martha’s, but saw nothing.  Shaun broke the silence with a sob and stepped toward me.  Quickly I put my hand to his chest and pushed him back outside asking why he was at my door.  He told me that he loved me.  I watched tears roll down his cheeks and my heart started to pound against my chest.  All my internal alarms were going off, warning me that i was in grave danger.  I firmly told Shaun that I was not interested in his affections, closed the door in his face and quickly flipped the dead bolt and secured the safety chain. 

    Knowing that Martha was not an early riser, I grabbed the quilt off the back of he couch, hunkered down with the remote and started flipping through cartoons, waiting for a decent hour to phone her.  Several hours later I woke up with the mornings events almost pushed to the back of my mind.  I convinced myself I was overreacting, but there was still a small nagging voice inside demanding i take some kind of action.  I glanced out the window to see that his car was gone and the apartment door was open, so i reached for the phone.  When Martha answered, I told her of my morning visitor and she apologized extensively, assuring me that Shaun would never bother me again. 

    The following Tuesday when I got home from work, I paused at the driveway to jump out of the car and grab my mail from the row of boxes at the curb along the street.  It was dark so I didn’t take the time to sort out the junk to toss in the garbage, but instead grabbed the whole bundle and jumped back in the car. I followed my usual routine when I got inside, tossing everything onto the kitchen table and headed toward the bathroom to scrub off my make up and peel off my heels.  Before I finished changing, the phone rang and I went back to the kitchen to answer it.  I was too lazy to install my new cordless phone where the archaic rotary phone hung on the wall, but it had a long cord so it wasn’t too inconvenient.  My mother was on the line droning on about her day and I started to fidget with the stack of mail sorting into piles of what needed to be read, what needed to be paid and what could go straight to the trash.

    I paused when I came to the thick white envelope with only my name written on the front.  With my mother still listing all the sales at the local department stores I turned the envelope in my hand.  Someone knew where I lived and purposely put this envelope in my mailbox, but who?  I told few people my address and other than my family, only two people had ever been over.  I propped the phone on my shoulder, still giving my mother the obligatory “uh-huhs” where appropriate and I tore open the envelope.  I reached inside and pulled out several pages that had been carefully folded into thirds.  I set it on the counter and started to lay it flat as line after line of red ink appeared. A total of four pages of tightly spaced cursive.  Quickly I flipped to the last page in search of the signature and saw the name “Shaun McDonald.”  I abruptly finished the conversation with my mother and sat down in one of the old metal kitchen chairs and began to read.

    The little hairs stood up on the back of my neck as I studied each line.  He began by apologizing for waking me Saturday morning, promising that it would never happen again, going on to say he would die for another chance to be close enough to kiss me. He continued professing his feelings, declaring that he has been in love with me since the first time he saw me.  My stomach turned as I read a full page vividly describing his dream of marrying me and raising a family together. The final page was covered in apologizes.  He says he knows he could never be man enough to land a woman like me and he promised to never bother me again.  Just below his signature, in small print, a p.s. begging that I never tell his grandmother of this letter.

    I noticed my hands were shaking as I reached for another cigarette and I tried to remain calm and assess the situation without emotion.  I looked the letter over again, searching for keywords to provide me an insight on his intentions.  As he stated over and over that he would never bother me again, I decided that I would take it at face value.  If Martha had in fact kicked him out, there would be no point in creating additional conflict.  I folded the letter and stuck it back inside the envelope then walked to the bookshelf and carefully slid it between two books where it would be hidden, but not lost.

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    A little over a month had passed and my encounter with Shaun was forgotten.  Christmas was just around the corner and I was delighted to have my first tree twinkling in the living room covered with all the ornaments I’d been collecting for more than twenty years.  I had baked five different kinds of cookies, and not only was I out of storage containers, but I thought it’d be nice to share my festive treats with Martha.  Using a cheap plastic plate, with a stamped image of Santa Claus in the center, I arranged chocolate chip cookies, raisin cookies, chocolate crinkles, peanut butter cookies and sugar cookies, then carefully covered the plate with plastic wrap.  The biscotti took so much time to prepare and for all the effort, there weren’t enough to go around.  I needed the full batch for the office potluck the next day.  I looked out the door and saw Martha’s car at the bottom of her stairs, noting that her boyfriend’s car was absent, and made the quick trip across the parking lot.

    The door opened just moments after I knocked and Martha looked surprised to see me.  She was appreciative of the cookies, but didn’t engage in her usual long winded conversation.  I didn’t give it much thought, after all, I did pop in on her unannounced and she could have been in the middle of something.  I stopped halfway between our apartments and stared at all the lights and garland I’d hung on the black iron rail up my staircase.  I was pleased with how my holiday spirit glowed all around me and thought; maybe Martha was just a humbug.

    All the preparations for work were almost complete.  I put as many cookies as would fit in the two gallon tupperware and popped the lid in place.  In a brown paper bag I stacked the white paper plates printed with green holly leaves, the package of green paper napkins and the three boxes of red plastic silverware.  The cesear salad only needed to be dressed and tossed, but that would have to be done at the last minute so my greens wouldn’t get limp.  I pulled the spaghetti sauce I had made the night before from the top wire rack of the refrigerator and with a metal spoon scrapped off the fat that had congealed on the surface.  In the morning I had planned to put the sauce in the slow cooker on low so that it would be well heated by lunch time.  Having limited resources in the employee break room, and with a dozen people at the sink and microwave, I decided it would be easier if I made the extra trip home mid morning.

    Jason had offered to make the trip home with me to give me a hand with transporting the food. The office was located a 10 minute drive from my apartment so we left the office at about 11am, giving us time to pick up the food and set up for our office Christmas party by lunch.   During company time, he was every bit the professional, but since I had been dating his younger brother, Mike, our relationship was more personal than our coworkers were aware.  I laughed at him in his shirt and tie as he acted like a child playing with the multi directional controls on my leather Eddie Bauer seats.  He had pushed each control to the maximum and now sat at a left angle with his forehead almost against the dashboard but with a casual tone asked if I had still planned to replace my Explorer.  I replied that whatever mysterious disaster that had happened under my hood seemed to be an isolated incident and I no longer intended to unload the car that we now joked could be haunted.

    About a week earlier,  I got in my car to leave for work, but was having trouble with the engine.  I had worked on cars often enough to know that it was not the starter, I recognized by the sounds from under the hood that it was operating properly when I turned the key, but just after the engine would start, it would completely shut down.  I made several attempts, but each time it started it would instantly die.  Knowing my mechanical ability didn’t go much beyond obvious parts,  like the alternator, I didn’t know what I would do after popping the hood.  I wasn’t even sure what I was going to look at, but I could not call for help until I had at least attempted to fix the problem myself.  I reached down and pulled the hood release under the dashboard and got out of the car.  I rolled up the sleeves on my white blouse before I shoved my hand wrist deep into the grill to pull back the metal hook.  After I secured the prop rod in the slot under the hood I examined the engine and was shocked by what I found.  Somehow all the hoses had been disconnected.  I stared at them as they hung loosely like a tangle of black snakes and puzzled at what could have happened during the night. 

    I’ve heard stories of small animals crawling up in engine compartments in search of warmth during the night and assumed that what I had here was just that simple.  I hoped the visual I had stamped in my memory was correct as I quickly pushed each hose back in place.  I didn’t know what most of them were, what they did or what I was connecting them to, but was confident that everything looked correct.  I held my breath as I turned the key and hoped that, even if it didn’t start, I didn’t do anything that would cause permanent damage.  I let out a sigh of relief when the engine started and continued to hum.  I looked at the clock on the dash to see that I was now fifteen minutes late for work, then noticed the grease smudges on my hands.  I pulled the key out of the ignition and ran upstairs to clean up and call work to let them know I was going to be late.

    Jason was still teasing me about my car and continued with his elaborate tale of the homeless man that found refuge hugging my engine at night when we pulled into the complex.  We were laughing when we reached the staircase and I joked to Jason that I would not have him walking behind me while I was wearing a skirt.  He was three steps up and I started to follow him when I was stopped by a voice from behind me.  I turned to see Shaun standing in my backyard leaned up against the storage shed.  I stood frozen in place staring at him while he shouted at me, calling me a slut and a whore.  He motioned towards Jason and asked if he was my new boyfriend, but neither Jason or I spoke.  Shaun continued yelling obscenities telling Jason I was bitch and Jason looked down the stairs at me with a confused stare.  Desperately scared and mortified with embarrassment I looked back at Jason and gave a small shake of my head, without speaking I pleaded with my eyes that he keep going and not say a word.

    When we got inside I quickly closed and locked the front door then reached for the phone.  Jason pummeled me with questions but I didn’t know how to answer them and dismissed him with a wave of my hand when Martha answered the phone.  My hands were shaking, I was fighting to keep the tears back and my voice steady while I told her of Shaun’s appearance in the complex.  She sounded concerned, as well as angry, and she gave me Shaun’s father’s work phone number and asked that I phone him.  I had met Martha’s son, Richard,  and we had chatted from time to time when he came by to visit his mother, but was a little surprised that what I told him didn’t seem to have any impact, it was as if he had expected this altercation.  He said that he would call me back later and I explained I was on my way back to work, but made sure he had both my home number and the office number before I hung up.

    I opened the front door and stood at the landing at the top of the stairs, carefully surveyed the area below.  I didn’t see any sign of Shaun and motioned for Jason to grab the bags and containers off the kitchen table and move quickly for the car.  The drive back to the office was quiet, I didn’t feel like laughing anymore and I still didn’t know what to say.  I briefly explained that Shaun was my neighbor’s grandson and the only legitimate excuse I could produce for his behavior was simple insanity. I was no longer in any mood for a party of any kind, but had to keep up appearances and went about lunchtime potluck as planned.

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After lunch I sat at my desk with a stack of pending orders to my left and my hands rested on the keyboard, but I was not able to focus and I just stared into space.  I heard the phone ring, but I didn’t reach to answer it and hoped that it was nothing more than a sales call that I wouldn’t need to pick up.  Michelle rapped on the outside of my cubicle and told me there was a man on the phone named Richard, and he said it was urgent.

I grabbed my notebook and a pen and dashed into the conference room and slammed the door.  I snatched up the phone, pressed the flashing red light, anxious to hear what Shaun’s father had to say.  Richard sounded tired and angry.  His breathing was labored and his words came at me almost too fast to hear.

After I called him, he left work and went to Martha’s apartment to confront Shaun about his behavior.  Shaun tried to defend himself telling his father that I was his girlfriend and that we had a fight, he pointed to the plate of Christmas cookies on the counter of Martha’s apartment and told his father I had baked those cookies for him.  While they argued, Martha came home and sided with Richard, telling Shaun that the cookies were hers and I didn’t know that he was even there. 

Richard explained that Shaun had made it known to them that he had, what they thought was, a harmless crush on me but since I had called and complained, they told him he had to leave me alone or they would throw him out on the streets.  He went on to say that the three of them continued to argue and Shaun became violent.  He grabbed the typewriter from the desk and threw it at Martha.  She jumped aside and the typewriter went through the wall.  Richard tried to tackle him, but took some effort to wrestle him down knocking over a bookcase in the process.  He finally pinned Shaun the floor and held him there while Martha phoned the police.  Officers immediately reported to the scene and when they saw the damage, they handcuffed him for their safety while taking notes for the report.

Shaun insisted to the police that I was his girlfriend and I was cheating on him, telling them of the man he saw me with at lunch.  Martha and Richard both tried to defend me, but Shaun persisted.  He created elaborate tales of how we went to the movies together, how I would come home from work and cook him dinner.  As Richard repeated all of this to me tears silently rolled down my cheeks and I quietly asked what I should do.  Richard told me that I needed to get to the police station before the officer completed his report, telling me that Shaun was only 17 years old and I could be charged with statutory rape. I launched into my defense that I’d never touched him, but Richard reminded me, it was my word against his.

I had never been inside a police station and I felt ashamed to be standing there now in front of the bullet proof plexiglass waiting for the dispatcher to acknowledge me.  Only a few seconds passed, but it felt like an hour and I tapped on the glass, gently clearing my throat.  The pasty-faced cadet glared up at me, obviously irritated by the interruption and gruffly asked how he could help me.  I looked down at the piece of yellow paper that I had torn from my notebook where I had scribbled the officer’s name and the report number and told him that I didn’t know who to talk to, but I was there in regards to a recent arrest.  He saw me fidgeting with the paper and asked for the officer’s name and, after I replied he told, me to sit and wait.

I sat on the edge of the hard plastic chair staring at the cold cinder block walls and I started to think about what I would say.  What could I do to prove that I was never involved with Shaun?  If it was a case of my word against his, would I have to go to court?  Would I have to stand trial in front of a room full of people as they passed their judgement on me?  If I was arrested, I would lose my job and who would hire a woman that rapes teenage boys?  My mind continued to race when the solid steel door in the center of the wall swung open.  I looked up to see a uniformed officer smiling at me and he waved his hand for me to come inside.

He told me to follow him as he walked down the length of the white tile floor and I had to tell my feet to keep moving as my hands still nervously twisted the yellow square of paper.  When he reached the end of the hall he stopped and opened a door gesturing for me to walk in ahead of him.  I expected to see a window along one wall with a single table and two chairs in the middle of the room. I stepped inside and was surprised to see a vending machine directly in front of me.  I gave the officer a confused look and he laughed as he walked towards the coffee machine telling me to have a seat anywhere.  I walked to the first of the four round tables inside the police station lunch room and sat down.  The officer walked over and set a styrofoam cup of steaming black coffee in front of me, then sat down in the chair directly beside me.

The friendly nature of the officer was comforting and I could feel myself begin to calm as I introduced myself.  He smiled and assured me that he knew who I was and he knew why I was there.  My fingers closed around the white cup, but I didn’t trust that I could lift it without my trembling hands spilling the hot liquid in my lap.  The man reached out and put a hand on my forearm and chuckled, telling me to calm down, I wasn’t in any trouble.  He explained that he arrested Shaun and he would be charged with domestic violence for assaulting his grandmother.  I asked about all the things Shaun had said about me and the officer replied that he didn’t believe anything and didn’t even bother to write it down.  He told me as far as this case was concerned, I didn’t even exist.  I spent a few more minutes there while the officer told me of what he had witnessed at the scene, concluding that it was obvious that Shaun had some kind of mental problem.

I left the police station, relieved that I was not in trouble with the law, but knew my worries were far from over.