Last night after I wrote in this thing I curled up with bub and we watched House. We propped up the new pillows I purchased last week which are soft to touch and a nice warm khaki color (which is neutral by my standards since we have lots of colors going on in our home). It was warm under the covers and a very nice way to wind down the day. We shut out the lights and I heard bub’s snoring before I could count to 20. I hate it when he falls asleep first; it makes me feel like I’m the last one to dream and I fear that I won’t be able to drift off on my own due to the…um…noise. But alas, I did.
And then, at an hour that I learned to be around 1am and not 6am, though I was sure my alarm would sound at any moment, I heard a pounding. My heart started soaring. I feel like I’ve been on alert ever since I came home one night to find the three units next to ours broken into.
Could I be dreaming? No. Did I really hear something? Yes. Well if I heard something then someone else should hear something. So I listen to hear if bub is stirring and I hear no noise–no snoring, yet I learn later that he was fast asleep. He was so easily woken by the second time I called out his name. Maybe it’s because I yelled it.
And it was either our bedroom door being shut or the grogginess of sleep but the noise-maker made not a loud, sharp pounding on a door, but a muffled pounding noise. After I called out to bub he woke and we waited to hear the noise again. There was indeed someone pounding. But was it on our door?
I played the part of scared girl. I needed protection. I felt pathetic. I told bub that I was scared and proceeded to pull the covers tightly around me. I couldn’t see what he was doing but I heard him spring to action. Then I heard him fling open the door. Then there was a pause that seemed to last forever; I thought my god, the intruder is going to push past bub and come get me!
Instead, I heard…conversation. I think: Is this some drunk student who has lost his way? I was annoyed. But then I hear typical bub being polite and then hear him saying: Thank you. Thank you. What??
I can sort of see bub in his bathrobe pulled tightly around him when he returns to the bedroom. He is my hero and I await the news as to why someone is pounding on our door at the late hour that it was.
Our neighbor is the pounder. Bub thanked him since our neighbor only felt it important to inform us that our keys were still in the door. And instead of allowing them to remain in the lock for an actual intruder to come get us (!), he thought that pounding on the door at this late hour was the best solution.
I am so glad that our neighbor is not a psychopath.