I went to bed early last night, the effort required to stay awake once I started the movie was too much for my heavy eyelids. I set my alarms, heedless of the holiday or the forthcoming time change and crawled in between recently laundered white sheets. It took a while to maneuver around the pain that resides in my shoulder like a rent-controlled monster unwilling to vacate. I can hardly believe I’m already heading to bed, I thought as my eyelashes grazed the pillowcase. Miss Kitty parked her shoulder against my ribcage, and I fell asleep with a tiny, contented rumble reaching through the blankets to comfort my skin.
I awoke around 1:30 in the morning, confused by steady drumming of rain on the street and roof. What would cause me to stir from such a perfect slumber, I wondered. Then I heard them — the voices of the new neighbors carrying through the double-paned window in the hall and vibrating my eardrums with that perfect pitch that can’t be ignored.
Drunks laughing. Girls shrieking, exclaiming too loudly over things they won’t remember in the morning. Guys bellowing across the backyard, using baritone voices to break through the soprano chorus of alcohol, cigarettes and cell phones.
Climbing out of bed, I peered out the window in the stairwell and watched them all, huddled underneath of the umbrella of an outdoor patio set, standing up straight so their backsides wouldn’t drown in the rain. I wondered how cacophonous they must seem to their immediate neighbors. I looked for signs that the level of volume pouring through the privacy fence would soon be abated — a fight? A skirmish? An accident? No, they were simply still in bar-mode, their voices trying to carry over a now imaginary background noise of imported music and chatter, liquor and proximity.
I’ve asked them to be quiet before. To remember that there are families around them trying to sleep, people who need to get up and be productive in the morning. They blamed it on the dog, who at the time wasn’t even barking his head off at imaginary foes invading his still-new territory. They shouted apologies into my window, and then cackled loudly about how funny it was to be told to quiet down.
So this night, awakened from what should have been a perfect, long night of sleep, I didn’t hesitate. I dialed the county Sheriff’s Office, and within four minutes a police car had pulled up to the curb outside of the clamorous townhouse. The sheriff’s deputy approached the gate in the backyard fence, and requested permission to enter. The drunk girl whose voice carries the loudest began to mock and taunt, throwing out f-bombs like free distribution leaflets to clubs with promotional happy hours or wet t-shirt contests.
The officer entered the property flashlight forward, and the girl’s name-calling soon turned into lame apologies and half-baked explanations, a torrential flood of drunken forgiveness which only stopped once the officer turned to leave. The discordant tones emanating from the backyard continued for a few more minutes as the excitement from the moment wore off and guests claimed cups, packs of cigarettes and lighters from underneath the umbrella and stepped inside, behind closed doors.
I returned to my bed, listening to the sounds of the rain splashing in the street and on the roof. I settled into the position that was most comfortable for my aching shoulder, and rubbed my fingers across the neck and shoulders of the cat who resumed her reclined position next to my ribcage. Hearing no more disturbance to my night I closed my eyes, perfectly at peace with having to make the last call.
