WEIRD
After work,I stop by my favorite Thai restaurant. It’s a tiny shop on a little side street in my neighborhood, but they make the most delicious food. I had decided on the bus I was going to treat myself to Pad Thai because I need something to cheer me up. And… I’m avoiding going home. I don’t want to deal with that graffiti.
I trudge through the slush to my place and walk through the gate. I’m already getting anxious about seeing the red letters on the wall. Maybe if I don’t look at it, I can pretend it’s not there.
I move around the corner and stop in my tracks. Because the word is gone. “What the…? Where did it go?” I mean, really, the word is gone. I look closely at the wall, and I can see that it has obviously been scrubbed down. I don’t know how, or with what. It surely would take at least a power washer, if not a sandblaster to remove the spray paint.
I look again, thinking. “Maybe my neighbor did it?” Yeah, that’s probably it. I’m sure he was none too pleased to see that painted on the house. I turn toward the front of the house, step up the creaky steps, and knock. My neighbor is a little strange. I wouldn’t say he’s a recluse, but he doesn’t seem normal, that’s for sure. I’ve seen him outside once or twice, but for the mostpart, I don’t think he leaves the house. He’s not noisy; I never hear him, even though he’s on the floor above me. When he doesn’t answer, I knock again, then press the doorbell. I feel a little ridiculous pressing the doorbell, since it hasn’t worked for decades, but then, maybe he fixed it.
Just as I’m about to give up, his door opens a crack. There’s about one-half-inch of a man with a furry face. “Dale? Hey….”
“Oh, hey, MacKenzie. What’s up?”
“Um, did you, by chance, clean the side of the house off today?”
“No.”
“Oh, okay.”
I start to leave when he adds, “But I did see two people washing the side of the house with a big power hose thing. What was that all about?”
Hmm, I’m not sure. “Well, someone spray-painted something on the side of the house last night.”
“What’d it say?”
I’m not about to admit what it said. If he didn’t see it….
“Oh, you know, the usual tagging stuff.”
“Dang, I hope they don’t do it again. That hurts property values.”
“Um, yep. It sure does. If I see anyone lurking, I’ll call the police. You do the same, yeah?”
“Of course,” he mutters. He’s still hiding behind the door. I can see his bare torso a little bit. I hope he’s not naked. Awkward.
“You look cold. You’d better get in your place.”
“Right. I will. Thanks, Dale. See ya,” I add as I turn to leave. Who would power wash my house? Maybe it was some sort of new neighborhood initiative? Who would I ask about that? Dale won’t know. I’ll have to give that more thought. I’m grateful to whoever did it but it’s still curious.
I walk past the wall again and peek at it as I make my way to my door. Part of me wants to know who cleaned it, and part of me is just trying to forget it was ever there. I unlock my door and use my shoulder to force it open. Once inside, I quickly change into some comfy yoga pants and a slouchy sweatshirt a laFlashdance. Such a good movie.
Cozy and hungry, I grab a fork from my drawer and dig right into the carton of my yummy Thai food. “Mmm, good.” I flip on my thirteen-inch television in time to hear the news anchor say, “Another shooting in Chicagoland…”
There have been so many shootings in Chicago the last few years—and not just in my questionable neighborhood. They’re everywhere. I’d be scared if I spent time worrying about it. I don’t, though; that’s one of the hazards of living in the big city.
Another story appears on the screen. “A third victim has been found, this one in Oz Park in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago. Police are saying they fear this is the work of a serial killer. They have not released the name of the most recent victim but have confirmed that she is a Caucasian female, age thirty. The identity of the deceased will be released as soon as next of kin has been notified.”
Shit, Lincoln Park is Lauren’s neighborhood. I don’t remember hearing about the other two murders. Poor girls.
I need to give Lauren a heads-up.
Me:Lauren? You there?
Moments later, my phone dings.
Lauren:Yeah?
Me:I’m sending you a link to breaking news. They think there’s a serial killer on the loose in your neighborhood.
