New Curtains
Matthew Ryan Fischer
I heard the voices scream outside my house. I did not go to the
door. Someone shouted “…shoot you…” I did not go to the window. A voice cried
out “…oh yeah, come over here and take your shot…” I did not call the police.
I heard the engine rev and the tires squeal as someone tore out of
the neighborhood. I was afraid to find out who had fled and what might have
happened.
Days later, I saw a police cruiser outside the house catercorner to
mine. I didn’t go outside. I didn’t want to draw the wrong sort of attention to
myself. The police lights weren’t on and no one was marched outside wearing
handcuffs. Perhaps there had been a noise complaint. Perhaps they were
investigating something much worse. I didn’t know. I could ask another neighbor
later if I felt nosy and it seemed safe to inquire about such things.
I didn’t have any real information, I told myself. I didn’t know
what the argument was about. I didn’t even know if it had been a real argument.
I hadn’t seen it firsthand after all. It could have been an argument or people blowing
off steam. It could have been a precursor to a crime. But I also remembered my
idiot friends from high school and running around late at night throwing junk
into other people’s yards. There were teenagers in the neighborhood. It could
have been stupid kids playing pranks or trying to wake the neighborhood just to
see what would happen. I had no reason to inform the police of any of this. I
had no real idea of what was going on.
It was an easy way to let myself off the hook, to assuage my guilt
that I had been a bad citizen. I told myself that dangerous people might notice
me. I told myself that police themselves sometimes had a history of violence
and suspects were sometimes simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I kept to myself, as I so often did.
Nightmares followed. I had a dream about turning the lights on in
a room and finding a thief waiting. There was another about teenagers in the
street, throwing rocks. Once I was on the phone, about to call someone, when I
heard the window shatter. Of course, I would wake up to find none of these
things actually occurred.
I moved to a room further
away from the side of the house that faced the street. I doubted that would protect
me from any true danger, but it felt better.
Then one night I awoke to a loud noise. They say that a person can
always tell when they hear a gun fire. No firecracker or backfiring car in the
world sounds like a gun. I choose not to believe that. I have no idea what I
did or didn’t hear. I don’t want to know. I don’t have the money to move. I don’t
have the courage to fight. I can’t handle another reason to feel fear and anxiety.
I choose to believe what allows me to continue to live my life.
I did buy new blackout curtains. I find a pitch-black room helps
be fall asleep easier. As for the rest, I now wear sleep headphones. I haven’t
had a nightmare in weeks.
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