Last updated on March 3, 2019
The Sound Of The Police
Saturday night, the police came to my house.
The doorbell rang around 6:30pm, and I wasn’t expecting any deliveries so I was surprised. I pressed the buzzer, said hello, and a voice said back, “Police.”
Without thinking, I buzzed them in and immediately had a million thoughts rushing through my head. They were home invaders pretending to be police. Someone had died. I was being arrested for… Something, TBD.
Just in case they were home invaders I grabbed my keys and held them between my fingers, fist clenched, ready to pounce. I opened my door, heart pounding, and watched as two large men in plainclothes entered through the front door of the building. I stayed halfway up the stairs (again, in case they were secret murderers), while they were down in our foyer.
They said “police” again, flashed their badges, and then asked for a man I’d never heard of.
Confused, I asked what apartment he was in.
“He’s in…” one officer began, flipping through papers. It took him a moment, as his other hand was fumbling with his badge.
For another moment long enough for me to concoct several other scenarios (this dangerous man was hiding out in our apartment building. Someone in my building had an alias. I knew this man, had forgotten, and was about to be arrested for… Something, TBD) the policeman flipped through his papers.
He looked up at me again, and said, “What’s the address here?”
“307?” I said, confused.
“Oh,” said the policeman, flipping his paper shut. “We wanted 370.”
“Yeah, 370,” said the other one.
“Sorry about that,” said the first policeman.
They turned and exited just as my son entered at the top of the stairs, his pajama shirt completely unbuttoned and his little belly hanging out.
“Are the police going to arrest someone?” he asked.
I honestly had no idea how to answer that, so I picked him up, took him inside, and we went right back to chopping up the bodies*.
*Just kidding about the last part.