Monday, August 27, 2007

Put on the Red light

A few weeks ago I was sleeping soundly in my bed; given the time of day this was the right thing to be doing, when a noise woke me up. At first I thought it had been something from a dream but then I heard it again, it was the sound of a woman crying, or perhaps sobbing is a better word. I sprung out of bed and looked out the window and sure enough there was a woman on the street, about 20 feet away, hunched over and deeply upset. A quick look at Capital M told me all I needed to know: it was going to take something much louder to wake her up.

I threw on some shorts that, upon reflection, were not decent to wear in public and headed outside to see if I could help this woman in distress.

It was about 5:00 in the morning and the world consisted of different shades of purple. My boxers, clearly visible from the gaping hole in my shorts had changed from tropical to twilight themed. My brain, which managed to get me this far in very little time, now slowed back down and wrapped itself up in fuzzy sleepiness. Which is why I asked a woman who was clearly very upset "are you all right?"

She seemed not to hear me, although her body posture did seem like she was at least aware of my presence. I asked again, this time a little louder. She turned around and looked at me. She was about 5'5 and looked to be in her mid to late 30s. Her hair was long, curly, and probably dirty blond but looked more like mauve. She wore tight jeans and I'm pretty sure Capital M would say they are not currently in style but I can't be certain.

"Want do you want?" Came her barely audible response.

"I heard you crying." I replied. "Is there anything I can do for you?" I'm not sure what I was expecting her response to be but I do know it wasn't what she actually did. Her sobbing started all over again. She crouched down low to the ground and jumped up, spastically turning her body in the air as she did so. When she resumed her footing she leaned back hocked a huge lugee, giving her spit extra distance by leaning forward as it projected from her mouth. Fortunately, she didn't aim at me.

While she was doing her best to give her phlegm a fitting send off the ratty plastic bag she had in her hand fell to the ground and a few needles rolled out. She jerkily bent down and picked them up.

"Do you want some company?" She asked when she stood upright again.

"No, that's alright," I replied. She didn't take this well. There was more spastic jumping, more spitting and another bag mishap. It then occurred to me that this might not look good. Here I am standing on the street in very ripped shorts with a woman who is probably a prostitute and crying loud enough to wake up the neighbourhood (except Capital M). Nothing I said seemed to have any impact on her and I thought that it may be best if I called the the police and hopefully they could help where I had so miserably failed.

I went back inside, unnoticed by the woman, and tried to find the number of the police. However, I hadn't even found it when I heard a man's voice outside. I looked out the window and some other nearby dweller had managed to chase off 'Roxanne.'

I think if had my casual crime fighting gloves this story may have had a different outcome. Nonetheless, it did add some excitement at a time when I would normally be sleeping.