The Noise

Written Summer 1999

I stopped rinsing my hair long enough to listen for the noise again. I was sure I heard it. The creaking of the floor boards in the next room.
I thought I had been alone in the apartment when I went in for my shower I shrugged it off with the excuse that it had to be my cat running around even though I knew there was no way my 8-pound Sylvester could creak the floorboards. But I had locked and dead bolted the front door. I hadn't heard any devastating crash that would have signaled a broken down door, but all that meant was that I had a really clever burglar on my hands.
I shook my head - either to clear my face of shampoo suds or to dispel my fears. I didn't remember giving anyone my keys. My mother had a set but I to borrow them when I lost my set of house keys.
That thought froze me solid. I slowly lowered my arms to my side and tried to stop the racing of my heart. Whoever had found my keys knew they were mine and knew where I lived.
I let the water continue to run as I stepped out of the shower. I threw on my fuzzy pink robe without bothering to dry off. I frantically searched the bathroom for a weapon, but the closest I could come was a curling iron. I debated on whether or not to plug it in before deciding there wasn't enough time to get hot and it posed more of a threat of electrocuting me than hurting him.
I waited poised next to the door. I heard the shuffling of feet down the hall. He had left my bedroom and sounded closer.
I silently cursed myself for allowing my mother to buy me an electric shaver for Christmas. I could have had razor blades for my defense.
As I heard the heavy footsteps approach the door, I reached for my hairspray. If I was lucky, I could get him square in the eyes.
And then unexpectedly, there came a knock.
"Yes?" My voice cracked a terror filled response.
"Miss, I got your cat here. The neighbor downstairs said it jumped onto their fire escape. I tried knocking, but you didn't answer. I decided to use my keys."
I sighed and slowly lowered my hairspray and curling iron. What was I really planning on doing? Styling the intruder's hair?
I dropped my weapons in the sink before opening the door to accept my cat.
Seeing me in my robe, the apartment manager blushed red and sputtered excuses, "The cat kept crying, and we thought maybe you had been hurt. And then when you didn't answer the door, we got even more worried."
He babbled all the way to the door, which I locked again and dead bolted. If I wanted to return to my normal life, I needed to install new locks and a chain. Or maybe I should stop leaving my windows open.