My meeting with the police

I completely forgot in my vicodin haze one of the memorable events of last week.

By Wednesday evening, I had decided that my face was not safe for public viewing. Early Thursday morning, I scampered out of the house to drop my latest Netflix rentals in the mailbox.

I did something similar yesterday morning but it was much later and there were a lot more people around. So I walked with my hand shielding the right side of my face. Most of the swelling is gone but there are some muscles in my face that still are not operational. Namely the ones that make your mouth go up when you smile. But only on the right side of my face. I have spent the past week feeling like my dad's mom who was a stroke victim. And then I worry about my face sinking on that side. I vaguely remember the oral surgeon saying something about this to his assistant toward the end of the procedure. Great. I go on Friday for a follow-up.

But back to my story. Thursday night I was on the phone with my mother. I walked into the kitchen to get some juice. Probably to swallow some pill. When I got to the kitchen, I noticed some guy outside my kitchen window. Well, not just some guy. This homeless guy who used to think the area around my building was his home. That is until about a year ago when my neighbors got a restraining order against him along with a keep away order.

About a couple of years ago, my neighbors had a son. Up until this point they had assured me that the homeless guy was harmless. But then he became obsessed with their son. He refers to the boy as "his nephew." One day they caught him trying to crawl into their bedroom window, trying to get to the kid. And so they called the cops and got the restraining order and all. He stayed away at first but over the last few months, he has started showing up again. My neighbors said that late at night he appears below their bedroom window, pounding on the wall, and screaming, "Give me my nephew!" My neighbors gave me instructions that if I ever saw him around, that I should call the police.

No problem. Especially given the winter of 2005. This homeless guy had found a way into the building. And so for a number of weeks during that winter, he and some friends camped out in the laundry room in the basement of the building. I always feel a little uneasy going to do laundry to this day. Especially now that I have learned that the lock that has kept them out of the basement was recently broken again.

So on Thursday night, I quickly left the kitchen. (He never saw me as far as I know.) I then somehow managed to get my overly talkative mother off the phone so that I could call the police without telling her that I needed to call the police. No need to freak her out.

About a half hour later the police showed up. I knew by then that he was long gone. One of the officers stopped me short when I started to describe the guy. It seems that the officer was well-acquainted with him.

I just worry about whether the guy realizes that I'm the one who called the cops on him. Because I see him when I am out and about quite frequently. He seems to think that I am his friend or something.

And no, I have no intention of sharing this story with my parents. My mother will use this in her neverending campaign to get me to move back to her house. There are a lot of things I'd rather do before I do that.

I keep wondering though. What did the cops think of my puffy face and black eye?

Oh, and don't worry. Tomorrow's post will probably contain food.