Wednesday, December 07, 2005

The Intruder (Part I of II)

I moved to New Rochelle, NY in the Fall of 1988 to attend Iona College. I was awarded a half-academic, half-athletic (water polo) scholarship to attend. I was not, however, given any housing subsidies, so I stayed off campus with several other water polo players. We lived on Webster Road, about a mile from campus in the house of Mr. and Mrs. "R."

Mr. and Mrs. R were very hospitable people. They had an older, but well-maintained, three-story house with a lovely above-ground pool in the back yard (pictured below). If you'll notice, the pool had ample decorations, which the guys and I referred to as a Mexican construction zone. There was also a floating dolphin that tended to stare at you when you came in really late and stoned drunk tired.

Mrs. R worked at a local church part-time, and Mr. R had a thriving catering business in addition to being a war veteran and commander of the American Legion in New Rochelle. I felt safe with them.

Three water polo players rented rooms from them: one on the second floor across from the master bedroom (me, a freshman); and two upstairs on the third floor (Ben, from Australia; and Jake, from Portland-both sophomores). I think we paid something paltry like $200/month, all bills paid. The three of us shared a phone and a bathroom.

There was no separate entrance for the tenants. We walked directly into the kitchen from the back entrance as if we were members of the family. Except that instead of swigging OJ out of the fridge and grabbing a leftover piece of pizza, we ducked our heads and walked quickly and quietly to our rooms. I always had an unsettling feeling about walking into the house of complete strangers while they were having dinner or watching television. They didn’t seem to mind at all. I eventually got used to it.

After living there for nearly 3 months, I got into a routine. I would leave for school on my bike early in the morning and return after our workout in the evening, generally around 7-8. I rarely deviated from this schedule. Except for one unforgettable day when I was expecting a letter in the mail.

I came home about 2:00 p.m. to check if the letter had arrived. It had. I was so anxious to open it; I sat at the bottom of the stairs and immediately began reading it. Shortly after I began, I was startled by someone entering the front screen door and jiggling the lock on the larger, wooden door. Thinking I had forgotten to lock it back, I rushed upon her to see who she was and what she wanted.

"Can I help you?" I said matter-of-factly. She turned away the second she saw me and scurried out the screen door, mumbling something under her breath. "Wow," I thought to myself. That crazy old bitch was actually walking into the wrong house. How bizarre. So I figured I should watch her from the window, just to make sure she was OK.

The tiny but rotund woman had on a long, puffy overcoat and behind her gigantic 1970's sunglasses stood perfectly quaffed hair. From the window, I couldn't get a good glimpse of her face, but I could tell she was a little wobbly in her heels. I assumed she had been down the street at the Beechmont for a couple of cocktails and may have just been a bit confused. I watched her walk down the sidewalk on the side of the house, and much to my surprise, she entered the back gate...


[To be continued.]

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home