Granny Panties

St. Patrick's Day, 2008

I love St Patty's day- everything about it.  The parades, the shamrock tattoo's, the corned beef, the beer, the drunk girls wearing fireman hats. Everything. It's just fun from top to bottom.

Once you have a baby, it changes some, but it's still fun.  J was 10 months old for his first St Patty's day.  We lived just one block up from 5th Ave, very convenient for a new mother with anxiety about crowds near her baby.  I put the corned beef on the stove early in the day, and headed down the street with J strapped to my chest in his baby carrier to watch some of the parade.  We watched the parade for close to an hour when I decided the teen's and 20 somethings were starting to get sloppy, so it was time to get back to the apartment.  I stopped at the corner grocery to pick up a six-pack for myself. 

Put the parade on tv, had some corned beef and mashed potatoes (no, I don't do boiled potatoes and cabbage. blech).  J had his mashed potatoes and bits of corned beef which he seemed to like.  I decided he wasn't ready for beer yet, so I had his.  J's bedtime was around 7 or 8ish at this age if I remember correctly.  I probably watched a re-run of Brett Michael's Rock of Love, or another Law and Order before bed.

It was sometime in the 1am hour when I heard screaming.  It woke me right out of a sound sleep.  One could describe it as blood curdling.  A woman screaming for help.  It was definitely coming from my hallway. I lay there, still, for a second, my mind racing... What do I do?  My immediate thought was that some girl was being attacked and raped down the hall by some drunk St Patty's dirt bag.  I knew I had to act.. even if I didn't want to.  No time to call 911 or the doorman, that would take too long.  Someone had to do something.  I grabbed my cell phone, closed the bedroom door, grabbed a knife, and ran out  into the hall.  Still the screams were coming louder and louder from around the corner of the hall.  I cautiously turned the corner with my heart in my throat, not knowing what I was going to find.

And there she was.

Mrs. Kahn. In her bra and underpants.  In her doorway.  Jesus Christ. 
Me: "What the hell's going on???? Are you ok?? What happened!!!!?????"
Kahn: "He fell! he fell! I was going to get the phone for help, but I fell.. I had to crawl to the door..."
Me: "Christ. Hold on, I'll get help."

Her male roommate, also in his underpants and also well into his 80's, was also on the floor uable to get up.

I ran down the hall to my apartment for a blanket to cover her.  I called the doorman from my kitchen, and then stayed with Mrs Kahn until he got up there. I checked in on Baby J, and then went back to Kahn until ems showed up, and all the chaos died down.  By the time I had finally settled back into my apartment, it was well past 2am. Closer to 3.

This is where the paranoia set in.  My dogs started acting really strange.  They kept growling in the direction of the hallway near my bedroom, bathroom and linen closet. Now I started freaking out.  My dogs had literally never acted like this before. Never.  I was now convinced that there was someone in my apartment.  Someone must have snuck in while all the chaos was going on down the hall and was now hiding in one of the closets or the shower.  I was totally freaking out. I ran into my room, grabbed baby J, and called the doorman again.  He must have thought I was a lunatic, but he came up and checked the whole apartment for me, and declared it all clear.

This didn't satisfy me.  I'd been through a lot that night. The whole thing shook me up.  I called John.  I knew that the St Pat's crowd would be dying down by now.  It was almost 4am, and the hard core partiers had been drinking since 9am.  The night had to drawing close to an end.  I told him the whole situation, everything that had happened and begged him to come home.  He would not.  I told him that I was scared that there was someone in the apartment, and that I was afraid to put the baby back in his crib, etc. 

No.  Work was more important.  I knew for a fact that his partner, M was there, and that they had about 5 bouncers still on duty.  I also knew that the crowd was pretty small- just a handful at the bar and a few in the back room. We had the security cameras set up to our home computer, so I was actually able to watch the bar from home.  He just was not going to come home.

That night I slept with a large kitchen knife under my mattress, and baby J in my arms.  John got home sometime that morning. No apologies. No questions.  No concerns. Just a breakfast sandwich from dunkin donuts and bloodshot eyes.