Stalkers

COVID birthday party in Emerson Garden

When Philip and I had only known each other a little while, we went on a road trip to Nova Scotia, taking the overnight car ferry with a casino, from Portland, Maine. I brought along a beautiful long dress for my first visit to a gambling parlor, and was crestfallen when perceiving the dingy room below deck filled with old women with long cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, pulling the handles on the slot machines repetitively. To make matters worse, Philip became sea sick, so not off to the best start. But poutine cheered me up and the peninsula had few people and oodles of natural beauty. We soon got into a rhythm of stopping and driving enjoying many breathtaking sights. On one particular day on our circumference of the peninsula,  we had just passed the northernmost point of Meat Cove, finding one of those tiny motel cabins that have a room and bathroom, along with a porch not big enough for two chairs. We had more than one load to bring in, and despite being in the middle of nowhere and not another soul in sight, Philip locked the car door in between. It made something happen to my stomach,  a message we weren't aptly suited. We talked about it and ended up agreeing to disagree. Prior to that and since then, anyone could accuse me of being lax about security, whether about locks, windows, or phones and wallets in public places. My general thinking goes that the worry used to lock up, along with the assumption that humans are bad and out to take my things makes me feel as though I've already been robbed. I acknowledge that this is somewhat out of the ordinary.

Marry we did, and procreate we did (and quite well, I might add!), settling in to life in Emerson Garden. Now Brookline Village is a perfect place to raise a child. The park is a social magnet, allowing posses of kids of varying ages to play together and be independent. They could walk to school, the library, the inconvenient store, as Jenn called it. The train to town was steps away and the text chain shared with Julie and Carin that we used to fill in last minute dinner ingredients was a blessing on many different levels. Despite this, while in general I don't lean conservative, there was a homogeny in that liberal bubble that could make it hard to breathe. And as a friend once remarked, given the fluidity between families and houses, it could sometimes feel a bit like living in a fish bowl. Once we became separated, I craved a low profile even more. 

So there was part of me looking forward to being back in my bachelorette pad in Cleveland Circle, or "the inner city" as Mary once called it.  The anonymity was appealing, as was the diversity, with orthodox Jewish men in fur hats, lots of East Asians, Russians old and young, post collegiate sorts and, well, pretty much everyone in-between, albeit at a lower income bracket.  

Speaking of orthodox men in Jewish hats, yesterday I was walking around the reservoir in the middle of the day in a long skirt, shirt and sneakers when a much younger man, walking towards me, gave me a respectful smile and a "shalom", apparently thinking my frizzy hair was a wig. Oy, not a look I was going for.  

But back to the story. While the anonymity was nice, it was surprising to learn that people didn't say hello or acknowledge my general existence, absorbed as they usually were in their phones and earbuds and dogs peeing. Those in my building seemed fine, but folks never looked me in the eye or said anything more than "hi" or "thank you".  There was one exception, a young woman with whom I share a back balcony. Every time I saw her, she'd smile and say hello. She even introduced herself, and I was embarrassed to forget her name immediately. Not because I didn't care but because, well, that's just where we are these days...

Before I left for France, she told me she had her roommate had been broken into, having cash and jewelry stolen. Most alarming was that the thief had come in through the back balcony and done his deed while the roommate was asleep.  Creepy enough to motivate me to close my kitchen window. For one night. I probably forgot and then opened it the next day, and that was that, and then I was off.  They purchased a Ring system and went back to their lives. 

A few weeks ago, there was a note under my door from this neighbor warning me that they had been broken in again and that the Ring system was sending them videos almost every night of a guy who was hanging out in our back courtyard. There was evidence of his presence as they daily found Mich Ultra caps and bottles, and black liquor store bags. And there were videos of this guy, walking around in no particular hurry, looking up, in one instance, straight at the camera, and then back again he was the next night. We had originally thought the guy's intent was to rob us or someone, but my window had been open and he hadn't come in. And there was nothing stealthy about his actions. My neighbors began calling the police when the videos would come in at 12:30 am. The police either didn't show up, or would come too late, despite there being a predictable time the guy would show up. Once when the police didn't show up and the roommates called back, they were told that the dispatcher answering the 911 number never conveyed the message. These poor girls were sleepless and getting frustrated. Eventually they reached out to our state rep, Kevin Honan. That night the police finally came at the correct time and arrested this guy who had been lurking around, it being clear at this point that he was more of a stalker than a thief.  The next day the ladies  both went in and filed restraining orders. 

Guy who was stalking my neighbors. Wonder if HR at Lendbuzz knows

The whole time this was going on, it had been my intention to stay up until his 12:30 arrival time to try and talk to him, to encourage him to get help and inform him we were calling the police. It just wasn't making sense to me, and it seemed a good idea to at least get a look at him. Alas, I always fell asleep too early. But the day he was arrested, I decided to take a walk in the afternoon to his home address at 11 Embassy Road, Apartment 3. Sure enough, there he was, released on bail, standing in the parking lot looking somewhat sleep deprived in grubby Celtics long shorts, a grey UnderArmour shirt and a two day growth. He had a bud in his ear and was talking, looking slightly away from me, allowing me to take it all in as I walked past. One of the advantages of us old folks is that we're less noticeable, so that while I know he looked at me, he didn't really see me. I walked on for a while, deciding what I wanted to do, having a mixture of emotions that included anger for making these women's lives so miserable along with compassion for some guy who was likely mentally not all there and had unrequited love for someone. I turned around and intended to just head back, unnoticed again when I found words coming out of my mouth. "Why did you do that?" I asked plaintively, because I did really want to know. He ripped is earbud out and yelled at me saying he had no idea what I was talking about. I walked home, looking behind me every 25 feet or so.

Andrew the Stalker. He always wore the same thing at night, different than what I saw him wearing when I spoke to him

So, arrested, restraining orders, police finally paying attention and showing up, the girls were still anxious.  That night, more videos, but a different guy wearing socks and flip flops, holding himself, luring around a window where two other girls live.  I'm not sure of the timing, but he got into the apartment of these other girls and hid in the closet, where one of them, 5'3" found him and beat him until he ran away.  Next night, back again, and my neighbor's boyfriend chased him a way with pepper spray.  How could there be another guy??  There are people in the neighborhood who recognize this second guy, and by the looks of his flip flops with socks, he also exhibits a lack of mental balance. We're thinking there's some kind of half way house around here.  

Quiet for a few days and then yesterday, I was on my way to meet my dear friend Hetty for lunch, when I saw a woman who is not the kind of woman one sees around here. I had been thinking about how to rent out my furnished apartment for the winter (if you know anyone who might be interested in it, 1 BR appx 9/1-5/31, I'd LOVE to hear from you) and thought she might be a realtor, so asked. She said she was from Channel 7 news and that they were doing a story about a Peeping Tom and when she found out I lived in the affected building, asked if I'd like to be interviewed, I declined.  That night, after a raucous evening playing padel, I arrived home to multiple trucks, vans, TV cameras etc. One was outside my bedroom window, which I always keep open, spewing fumes in. I not so politely asked them to go and bother someone else and mentioned that there might be a reason that #47 made up the expression "Fake News". I guess it was a slow news day.

Stalker #2

Fake News camera and car

The grace and bravery these two women exhibited throughout this ordeal that is hopefully done sits in contrast to these slothful, gas-guzzling, trashy news gathering companies who will find absolutely any misfortune to raise the population's anxiety, manipulating the misfortunate of individuals for their own clickbait. Just don't even get me started. A fishbowl of a different variety, this one fetid.