I greet you from the lobby of the Melville Memorial Library, on the main campus of Stony Brook University. After several failed attempts to connect to the internet via WIFI, I am typing this on Word, and hoping that WordPress will not give me problems with pasting text.
I moved in last Saturday. Although it is about an hour and a half from Staten Island (not bad), the drive made me realize that I’d be a little farther from New York than I would like. As I was approaching my exit on the Northern Parkway, my radio, tuned to 105.9, started sounding fuzzy. The static soon turned into a battle for frequency between a Chopin waltz and a kitschy rock song, the latter eventually winning. Soon enough, most of the available radio stations were being broadcast not from New York but from Fairfield, Connecticut. By the time I reached my destination, WPXR was gone, succeeded by rock radio, Q 104.3 was hanging on by a 100th, and I was surrounded by trees, sidewalk-less roads, and the eerie calm of Long Island suburbia.
I will not rant too much about my living situation (those who have heard from me in person can testify to my dissatisfaction) but I am renting a room in a one-floor home of an older lady. For now it is just the two of us. My neighbors are quiet houses, empty streets, and the ceaseless drone of crickets. I am not used to rural life, and the lack of human activity freaks me out. Last night was an especially difficult one in this respect.
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Yesterday at around 6:00 PM I returned from shopping to an empty home. “Great,” I thought, “I could make my stir fry and not worry about being messy.” I made a charming concoction of chopped chicken breast, baby Yukon potatoes, green bell peppers, Portobello mushrooms, broccoli, Grannysmith apple, and a slab of butter. The dish came together well, and I enjoyed a large portion in my room while watching television.
By 9:00 I had finished watching a CBS documentary about a medical student who led a secret life of rape, robbery, and murder. I turned off the TV and soon became aware of the house’s emptiness. Audible only was the turbine of crickets through the open window. Then, something fell. I jumped, but soon crept out of my room to investigate. I could not tell what had happened, because the floor was cluttered as it was. I telephoned my girlfriend to break the silence. As I was sitting on the couch in the den, adjacent to the garage, I heard the murmur of a man and a woman talking in what sounded like Korean through the door leading to the garage. Thinking that my landlady had for some reason left a radio on, I opened the door. Down the darkness of a small hallway I saw the shadows of a washing machine and dryer. Past them, the door to the garage. Light was shining through the door’s crevice.
Approaching quietly, I knocked.
The conversation stopped.
The sudden silence gave me chills. Someone was there.
“Hello?” I sighed.
No answer.
“I’m Jack. I’m living with X. Who are you? Can you come to the door?”
Silence.
Relieved that my request was not granted, I sprinted for my keys and darted out the front door. I locked it after me in case the intruder wanted to pursue me. I ran through the darkness down the driveway to my car, ripping the door open. Around me, nothing but trees and droning crickets.
Driving away, I phoned my parents. After I had calmed down a little, I decided to stake out the house from 500 feet away until the landlady returned.
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By 11:30, all had been resolved, and I was back in my room. She was renting the garage-turned-studio to a Korean medical student. She apologized for not telling me about it.
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Poor guy…he was trying to woo a woman and was interrupted by a strange man knocking on his door. I thought we weren’t allowed overnight guests? I wonder if he managed to get to first base…
In any case, no more crime shows before bed.
