JTK’s Dream Diary – January 20th, 2009
My back hurts. My fingertips, stressed beyond their limits, are chafed and bruised. I cannot feel my legs, yet I see them standing underneath me.
As Rachel’s father and I set down a sofa, the final piece, there is a collective sigh of completion and the obligatory smiles of a hard job well done and a new world begun.
With the aid of friends and family, we have just successfully piled our belongings into our new apartment, a beautiful duplex with ample storage, brand new appliances, and the luxury of a pool and patio out back.
It also provides a great deal of furniture that the prior tenant left behind. Indeed, it is such an amount that it is in fact a burden and , in combination with our own, clogs every room in the apartment.
As we discuss this in a good humored, lively discussion, there is a sound at the front door that can not be accounted for.
Laughing nervously…both Rachel I realize that we may have moved in two weeks too early and the previous tenant…has not yet become….the previous tenant.
As the procedural sounds at the front door near their completion, I further realize that we haven’t actually discussed the terms of a lease with the landlord. The closest we’ve actually come was 2 years ago when we had responded to an ad for the apartment, but had declined.
Huh… But it feels so right…
…to us perhaps, but not the bearded man who has just entered the room, his eyes focusing, twitching wildly at the mass of people and pile of furniture in front of him before he snatches a nearby pair of scissors and lunges at me.
Laughing semi-insanely, I wrestle with him on the ground just only keeping the blade from my left eye as I casually, but precisely attempt to explain the silly misunderstanding, the desired conclusion of which would allow us to keep all of our shit in his apartment.
The wrestling match continues for some time, until the more violent of the man’s anger has sufficiently vented. Enough remains, however, for him to very effectively order us out of his apartment.
The next day, I call him on the phone to apologize and hopefully better facilitate the transition that may or may not actually be forthcoming. My first words are chosen just carefully enough to prevent him from immediately hanging up the phone in a seizureous attack of anger. He still tries to end the conversation abruptly, saying that I had unbelievably interrupted a nap he was taking by the pool. But like a rabid telemarketer he is no match for the practiced foot that I have already gotten just inside his door.
As I pace somewhat nervously with phone in hand, the bearded man warms to me more and more, even laughing at some of my better jokes.
True cause to relax, I finally stop my pacing and stare contentedly out the window. Not only have I been adequately forgiven for yesterday’s transgressions, we have come to such a comfortable understanding that it seems we will certainly be great friends.
Indeed, I can see the man now…warmly smiling, no longer feigning his angrily distracted focus on the paper that sits on his lap. I tell another joke, surprisingly crude enough to cause the man to break into a great guffaw throwing his head back into riotous laughter until he notices me standing inside his apartment looking out at him, a peculiar look of murderous disbelief transforming his face and contorting his body into a perfect sculpture of anger.
I quickly finish urinating into the fish bowel, taking only enough time to shake twice before fleeing for my life, the blur of violence shattering the glass in front of me convincing me that this might be the best decision.
I don’t understand what got into him.