911

Nine one one, not nine eleven.

***

I sometimes miss my old job. I was a newspaper man, distributing the Dailies and the Sunday papers to businesses and street racks, and working late at night/early in the morning. The city is dark and traffic is light to nonexistent, and it’s usually peaceful and quiet.

Usually but not always. I saw things or met people who I called 911 for, and met most of the Milwaukie Police department because I was down there for my south route every night but weekends. I did both routes on the weekdays and one on the weekend with the much larger and more numerous Sunday papers.

One night in Milwaukie, right by the Providence Milwaukie hospital down there, I delivered copies to various places on the hospital grounds, and, driving out onto 45th Ave., I saw a fire raging in an apartment – really blazing, and called 911 to report it. Just as the call connected, I saw a fire engine coming, and… it kept going, right by the driveway to the fire. I dropped the phone and sped after the fire truck, flashing my lights and blowing my horn and stopped the truck up the street and pointed back the way we’d come.

"The fire is back there!"

I told them where it was – off of 45th – and they turned around and roared back down the street, and I went on with my route, feeling self-satisfied and that I had "done the right thing".

Another night, I was dropping papers right here in my neighborhood, right down the street from my apartment, and someone had smashed out windows in that store and had overturned my newspaper rack – the store had broken glass scattered all over, and it had obviously just happened – glass was still falling.

I pulled out my cell phone and called 911 and waited for the police, meanwhile noting that broken windows lined the street, and that a parked car, a Dodge Caliber, had had it’s windows broken too. That made it kind of personal – it wasn’t MY car, but it was just like it. Since the store was wide open now, I waited for the police and gave a statement, and continued my route when it was done.

A couple of more times, I called 911 for people who asked me to, and there again, I felt that I was doing "the right thing".

***

Tonight, I watched "Hawaii Five O" and a bit of the news, until the sports came on, and then got dressed and went out, walking up to Plaid Pantry, sort of hoping that the new girl was working, the one I had gotten a good vibe off of. It’s cooled down some, and I didn’t wear my penny loafers, I wore the jump boots I had polished while watching TV. K* had them resoled for me in March, but the weather has been warm enough for my white penny loafers, and tonight was the first time I had won my boots in months.

Plaid is a little over a mile up the street; I thought I’d walk and get some exercise and save the gas in the car. This is a quiet neighborhood for the most part, one of the better sections of town, and while I was walking along, I was taking inventory of myself, thinking, "well, I’ve got my shit-kicking jump boots on, so ok, I’m ok" and also laughing at myself a little; it’s a peaceful neighborhood, for the most part.

About a block from Plaid, I saw someone coming towards me, moving a little strangely. "Hmmm", I thought, and stepped a little slower to stay in the weak light coming from a building with apartments above offices.

"Can you help me! They’re after me and want to kick my ass!" the older guy said to me, one of the homeless guys in the area. There are some; the largest park of it’s kind in Portland, Westmoreland Park, is just down the street east of there, and the man said that people – more than one – had chased him the several blocks from the park, intent, he said, on breaking his legs and arms.

"Oh shit", I thought, and looked around and didn’t see anything, no one moving, no shadows that shouldn’t have been there. A calm came over me, one I know from past experience. I can speak very clearly and calmly.

"What can I do for you?", thinking, again, "oh shit".

I have lately been leaving the cell phone at home – I’m just going up the street and the damn thing hardly ever rings, and it’s 11:20 anyway – who’s gonna call? Well, doing that the other day, I missed a couple of text messages, so I picked the phone up and dropped it in my pocket.

"Would you like me to call 911 for you?" To which he said "Yes. Please. They want to hurt me and I know they’re still out there!"

First time in a long time I guess I have called 911, but I was calm, knew where we were, and have no problems giving my name and number to the authorities – besides, the cell phone would have been tracking me anyway – why not tell the truth. The operator took the info I gave her and I told her we would wait for the cops right there, in the light. I had two smokes left on me, so I gave one to the other guy and lit up, and we waited, talking.

It was a kind of strange story; some woman, he said, had paid a kid to break his legs so he couldn’t walk away – he said he was intending to leave and she was mad at him. Ooookay. I’m still all calm and collected – besides, there is a reservoir of anger and hate within me, lava waiting to explode, and a legitimate person to dump it on? Ok, let’s go.

Outwardly, I am calm, polite, and collected. I’m me. Mr. Nice Guy.

Two police cars came before we finished our smokes. The cops are good and quick in this part of town. The first officer got out of his car and I’m in the light, hands out of my pockets and clearly empty, and said "yes, I’m the one who called". The other cop parked and got out, and I was dismissed – "thank you sir, you can go on now, we’ve got it". I walked up the street to Plaid, bought my smokes, and debated about which way I should go home -back down Milwaukie Ave. or back on 17th, a parallel street. I’ve lived here 13 years; either way is good.

"Well", I thought, "I could go back on 17th, but I have nothing to hide, and maybe it would look bad if I did go home another way". Besides, I was curious, so I went back the way I had come and walked past the cops. I didn’t see the man I had called 911 for; I guess he was in one of the cars because I didn’t see him anywhere else. I walked around the cops and said "I hope things work out guys" and they thanked me and wished me a good night.

"Have a quiet night!" I said and walked on home.

I miss my vampire hou

rs; I’ve always liked working at night, when the traffic is light and not many people are around. I have called 911 more in the dark than I ever have in the daylight though.

I’m ready to "do the right thing".

 

*****