I'm wearing iPod headphones in the kitchen while making dinner -- and who in God's name would do that? -- when I hear the front door slam. I bolt around the corner and see Alex just taking his seat in the couch in the living room. Boy, that was a close one.
Until the phone rings. "This so-and-so in apartment such-and-such," a kind older lady's voice says. "I just wanted you to know that Alex was just in my apartment. I know who he is and it’s okay, but I wanted you to know that he just left, and I just wanted to make sure you knew he wasn't home."
Typical of my life that I'd hear this statement at the same moment I could look across the dining room and see him dancing to Elmo on the iPad. "I'm so sorry," I hear myself saying. "He did come back and thank you! I'm so sorry. I hope he didn't damage anything..."
"Well no," she says. "He just used my bathroom."
Jesus Christ. So sorry. He's home. It's all right. So sorry again. That's all right. Thank you so much for calling.
He's done this before. Like years ago, when the phone rang at 4 a.m. and it was a neighbor telling us that Alex had come in and turned on every light in her apartment. Like last summer, when it was almost a bolt an afternoon and a scramble to try floor after floor of our apartment building and listen in the stairwell for the telltale slam of a distant door.
Like two minutes ago, when I was scrubbing the bathroom floor (Alex's doing, too) and I heard our front door slam. I ran out and found Alex down the hall at the door of yet another kind neighbor who earlier was going out when we were coming in. "He's not home, Alex!" How many other less-kind neighbors hear me in the hall when I say things like that? Never has a shutting door sounded like it does to me in bolting times.
“Something about summer and Alex,” Jill emails. “Maybe you need to just take him out and accompany him in the elevator? Say ‘We will visit other floors. You can pick the numbers. We are not going to other apartments.’ It's just a suggestion.”
This afternoon I thought of writing a note of thanks to the lady from yesterday. “We’re sorry Alex intruded on you. We’ve talked to him about it, and it won’t happen again. Thank you for your understanding and kindness…” I felt like I was thanking someone for the gift of a Boggle game, and actually got half a sentence down before crumpling it up. What difference is a note going to make to someone who knows who he is and it’s okay? What makes me think it won’t happen again?
Posted by Jeff Stimpson
at 4:49 PM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, 25 July 2012 4:51 PM EDT
