Scariest moment of my life: The barefoot man crouching at my door

Artwork by Dell Linney.

Soon after my husband left the house to walk the dog one evening, someone came to the door. When I opened it, I met a man who scared me more than any other human being has in five decades.

 

I can't explain now why I even opened the door, because everything about that doorbell ring was wrong: 

The dog wasn’t there to warn me that someone was near the house. 

I usually look through the window before opening the door, but I didn’t.

I usually put on a sweatshirt first, but I didn’t.

And while the man who rang the bell seemed to know exactly what was on the other side of the door, I sure didn’t.

So I opened my door, which luckily has a screen in front that is always locked, but then slammed it shut as soon as I saw the man’s eyes crawling down my shirt. 

 

I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I didn’t have that screen door. I  don’t want to think about why he was crouched off to the side right near the knob on the screen door... ready to pounce in case I opened that, too?

 

When I calmed down enough to look out the window, I saw the man walking barefoot across the street and climb into the creek next my house. In the past 12 years I’ve seen all kinds of people living there, so I don't scare easy anymore. But with that particular man so close I would never never feel safe again, so I called the police.

Within minutes an officer responded and I asked him to please tell that man to leave, not only because I was scared, but because I didn’t want my husband to confront him. When the officer found the man in the creek, he claimed to just want money. But I’ve had men come to my door who wanted money, and they didn’t behave like him. Nothing about our interaction told me he wanted money.

 

While the officer was still talking to the man my husband came home, and of course still marched across the street to confront him. The officer calmly kept my husband at a distance until he finished with the other man, then explained that while he certainly understood that the man had scared me, he had not committed a crime.

 

But I wasn’t expecting the man to be arrested. I just didn’t want him to be near my house anymore. And I haven’t seen him in the creek since the officer talked to him.

That was cool.

Graffiti that appeared near our patio afterward.

Because when you’d felt like prey for nearly 40 years, you appreciate any help you can get keeping the predators away.

Like when a friend coming to pick me up one evening caught a man peering through my blinds.

Or when I caught a man trying to follow me into the restroom at a highway rest stop in Oregon, and later learned my husband had been watching him, ready to intervene if needed.

And those are just two examples of why I am always on alert in public, constantly scanning the environment for threats. Most women understand why, but when I told a male co-worker once how I never stop watching the people walking toward me, judging how risky they look and whether I need to cross the street, he was aghast.

“I can’t imagine living like that,” he said.

“Yeah, well,” I thought. “You’re a man.”

And that co-worker would have been even more upset to know that I didn’t really trust him either, because I’m never completely comfortable being alone with most men. With family members I’m always counting drinks and avoiding dark corners to keep my ass from getting slapped again, and with acquaintances I’m always asking, “Am I really safe?”

If that all sounds exhausting, it is. So last month when I could call the police and have someone other than my husband shew the predators away, it was damn nice.

Especially since the first time I called the police when a man scared me, I did not feel safer afterward. In fact, I felt more alone. 

 

After moving to a new city for my first job out of college, I began getting crank calls every day for weeks. And when the man finally left a message on my answering machine, I called the police. But their version of help was just to tell me, “guys like this usually aren’t violent.”

 

I didn’t want to be told that the man probably wouldn’t hurt me, I wanted him to be told to leave me alone. So I changed my phone number. And when I found a Barbie doll stuffed in my mailbox, I moved.

I know there are many people who never feel safer after any interaction with a police officer; for them, officers are the predators, not the protectors. And for that I am truly sorry, because I can’t imagine not being able to call the police department for help when I found a man crouching outside my door. If an officer hadn’t responded I wouldn’t have felt safe since. And my husband would never be able to leave me alone in the house again.

 

Unfortunate Update: It’s nearly two years later and that man is back in the creek after serving time in prison for an unrelated felony. In the past week he has been cited twice for polluting state waterways by camping in the creek and violating his parole, but across the street he remains.

 

The last time he was arrested I heard him yell at the officer, “You can’t fucking tell me what to do, I’m God!”

 

And yes, that is most certainly NOT cool.