Sunday night it was warm indoors with a gentle breeze coming in through the open windows. The silence that comes after midnight when the passing cars and their booming ghetto music have gone was broken by the caterwauling of a different kind. Somewhere on my street an unknown, unseen woman argued at full volume into a phone. Peppering her speech liberally with the F-bomb, her voice carried into the night. “You never f-ing call, you never f-ing text, you never f-ing cared for me!” She went on for nearly an hour.
What I wouldn’t have given for the usual sounds of cats in heat.
Twice I popped my head out the window and looked up and down Melrose. Where is she? Where is this moron who didn’t get the memo from Carrie Bradshaw that all the “abuse” she’s getting is an indication that “he’s just not that into you”?
“Why should I f-ing put up with this?” she demands. ‘Yes,’ I thought ‘why should any of us f-ing put up with this?’ ‘She must be on the roof of the building across the street,’ I figured. ‘And the canyon wall of the taller building next to it is making the echo carry directly into my open windows.’
“I shoulda listened to my f-ing friends when they f-ing told me you were no f-ing good!” she went on. ‘If only,’ I thought. ‘If only we listened to our friends. Think of the full night of sleep the entire block could be getting if only our f-ing friends had more sway with all of us.’ For a few minutes I tried to compose the perfect ‘shut up’ message to scream out my windows. I wondered why I hadn’t figured I’d need a bullhorn when moving to Melrose . I could stand in my windows and direct her to move indoors. ‘Break it up, break it up’ I imagined myself saying. ‘Step away from the ledge. They’re will be other men who will also not give you the respect you deserve,’ I said in my patronizing mind. ‘Let this one go Miss.’
And why wasn’t she letting him go? She’d indicated multiple times in the course of the conversation that she intended to. Wasn’t 1am the time to do it? Was she planning to meet him in person the next morning and give back his ring? His toothbrush? His apartment keys? What was she holding on to that this outburst late at night couldn’t end?
Aside from my building, I’m not familiar with my neighbors. It hadn’t dawned on me that any of the women I see on the street lived within shouting distance or that they spoke English the way she did. In the 6 months I lived on Melrose all other displays of public dissatisfaction had been conducted in Spanish and therefore easy to block out. But hearing, and understanding, the ridiculousness of the steady stream of threats to break it off for nearly an hour was too much for me to take.
I walked to the window again. The street was empty. Where was this miserable shrew? A stray cat across the street prowled in the neighbor’s trash can. The new building down a bit sat silent and dark, its For Sale sign marred by an anarchist symbol in red spray paint. Airplanes passed overhead in the cloudless sky. And the soundtrack to tonight’s production continued. A hip hop version of everyone’s favorite country song about his lying ways.
I wondered what he was saying on the other end during the brief lulls in her diatribe. What could he possibly be saying? What on earth would make anyone not hang up? Was he pleading with her? Spinning more lies? Trying to explain? What would make him want to stay with her?
Finally, just before 2am, her battery either ran out or she gave up. ‘Silence and sleep,’ I thought. And then a car drove down the block, blaring the heavy bass of some misogynist pop artist, which in turn set off every car alarm within 100 yards. ‘Normalcy!’ I dozed off.
“I shoulda listened to my f-ing friends when they f-ing told me you were no f-ing good!” she went on. ‘If only,’ I thought. ‘If only we listened to our friends. Think of the full night of sleep the entire block could be getting if only our f-ing friends had more sway with all of us.’ For a few minutes I tried to compose the perfect ‘shut up’ message to scream out my windows. I wondered why I hadn’t figured I’d need a bullhorn when moving to Melrose . I could stand in my windows and direct her to move indoors. ‘Break it up, break it up’ I imagined myself saying. ‘Step away from the ledge. They’re will be other men who will also not give you the respect you deserve,’ I said in my patronizing mind. ‘Let this one go Miss.’
And why wasn’t she letting him go? She’d indicated multiple times in the course of the conversation that she intended to. Wasn’t 1am the time to do it? Was she planning to meet him in person the next morning and give back his ring? His toothbrush? His apartment keys? What was she holding on to that this outburst late at night couldn’t end?
Aside from my building, I’m not familiar with my neighbors. It hadn’t dawned on me that any of the women I see on the street lived within shouting distance or that they spoke English the way she did. In the 6 months I lived on Melrose all other displays of public dissatisfaction had been conducted in Spanish and therefore easy to block out. But hearing, and understanding, the ridiculousness of the steady stream of threats to break it off for nearly an hour was too much for me to take.
I walked to the window again. The street was empty. Where was this miserable shrew? A stray cat across the street prowled in the neighbor’s trash can. The new building down a bit sat silent and dark, its For Sale sign marred by an anarchist symbol in red spray paint. Airplanes passed overhead in the cloudless sky. And the soundtrack to tonight’s production continued. A hip hop version of everyone’s favorite country song about his lying ways.
I wondered what he was saying on the other end during the brief lulls in her diatribe. What could he possibly be saying? What on earth would make anyone not hang up? Was he pleading with her? Spinning more lies? Trying to explain? What would make him want to stay with her?
Finally, just before 2am, her battery either ran out or she gave up. ‘Silence and sleep,’ I thought. And then a car drove down the block, blaring the heavy bass of some misogynist pop artist, which in turn set off every car alarm within 100 yards. ‘Normalcy!’ I dozed off.
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