(8) The scent of stale beer, cheap cigarettes and sweat… (the story behind my country dreams)

Let’s go back to the night that changed how I view the city and living within arms-reach of my neighbors.  I was 25, Hunter, my oldest, was about 19 months old. We were living near Washburn University, a block from a grade school, with a small park across the street. Our little three-bedroom starter home was adorable. I loved it! We had wood ceilings and it was cozy, comfortable, and safe. It was our first home together. Prior to that we’d lived in military housing. Not really our own.

I was coaching a high school dance team, finishing my teaching degree at Washburn, and juggling a toddler. Jake was an EMT working 24-hour shifts and lots of overtime just to make ends meet so I could finish school. EMT’s, at that time, made barely over minimum wage so providing for a family was difficult without a lot of overtime. He never complained. He’s not that type of guy. He’d do anything for us. But with that much time away, things were rough on my end at times and I was alone (with my toddler) a lot.

I have always prided myself on my independence. I can take care of myself. I don’t prefer to be alone, but it never bothered me. Nights/days it was all the same to me. It just so happened, that one night in early March, the same as any other, Jake was working over night and I was home alone with Hunter. It was a cool night. I had finished up some homework, put Hunter to bed and was fast asleep when I was startled awake by loud banging at the front door combined with Missy’s (our small dog) aggressive barking. I sat straight up trying to get a handle on what was going on and break out of my sleepy fog. I heard it again. Three loud pounds of a fist on my front door followed by an unfamiliar man’s voice shouting “Let me in god damn it!” I grabbed my phone, raced down the hallway and grabbed Hunter out of his bed. I trembled in the back of our house, only a small hallway separating me from the front door and whoever was on the other side. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely dial 9-1-1. The dispatcher (who will be referenced as “her/she” from here on out) picked up and through my truly terrified voice was able to understand that there was an intruder trying to get into my house. She questioned if it could be my husband, I assured her, NO it was not my husband, though I had to tell her that repeatedly. Then she wanted me to go and look out the window right next to the door or the peep hole to be sure it wasn’t my husband. Scared out of my mind, not clearly/logically thinking, I approached the front door, Hunter on my hip, I peered through the peep hole. I see a man stumbling back and forth on my front porch. I watch as he stumbled back and his head rolled back on his shoulders as if he couldn’t hold it up and his eyes rolled back in his head before re-gaining his balance and stumbling back towards the door. He looked to be early 30’s and completely intoxicated/high out of his mind. I quickly backed away from the door to the back corner of our house again.

After she was convinced that it was NOT my husband, she kept asking if I could quiet my dog. Stating that “the barking was very loud.” I explained that, at this point, my dog was the only thing between me, my son, and the intruder who continued to bang on the door and yell to let him in and I was not going to quiet her. She said she had an officer on the way, but that they were really busy that night and that it might be 15 minutes before they could get there. She seemed so frustrated at ME!

It felt like an eternity passed. All of a sudden it was quiet at my front door. But I could still hear footsteps just outside the door. After what felt like forever, she says to me “The officer is at the front door.” Says he is shouting “Topeka Police Dept.” announcing himself. Still shaking, not thinking clearly at this point. Again, I crept to the front door. I told her I didn’t hear anything. No police officer saying anything. I was standing right at the front door to which there were giant windows next to. I would have easily heard a police officer announcing his presence. I heard nothing. I told her this again. I looked through the peep hole. I saw no one, no intruder, no officer. She, very frustrated, said will you just open the door, the officer is outside! Again, not thinking clearly, blindly depending on that dispatcher to “save” me.  I stepped back away from the door. Willing my brain to think clearly. Thousands of scenarios racing through my brain at lightning speed. Hunter still on my right hip, I heard footsteps again just as I opened the door… Staring me in the face was the intruder… He was within arms-reach of me. He stumbled forward forcing through the doorway toward me, toward my son. The smell of stale beer, cheap cigarettes, and sweat filled my nose as he stepped through the doorway. From somewhere deep inside, to this day I still do not understand it, I was screaming “No! Get out!” I could hear my voice, but it felt as though I was hearing someone else screaming. With Hunter on one hip, phone in my hand (still on with dispatch), I shoved that man with one hand out of my house and down the front stairs with one blow. I slammed the door and locked it screaming at dispatch that that was NOT the officer, it was the intruder. I peered through the peephole and watched as that man stumbled up off the ground and ran toward the road. I don’t remember what she said after that… it didn’t matter… she’d put me and my baby in a position that could have gotten us hurt or worse. I really don’t remember anything after that, until the officer showed up.

Turns out, the officer was at the wrong house. You see, in our quaint little neighborhood, there were two streets with the same name 23rd St. and 23rd Terr. both with the same first house number. He had been outside 23rd Terr… it was an honest mistake. He was very, very apologetic. After talking with him I came to know that he had been working for 36 hours straight because they were so short staffed at that time. I knew what it took to do that, Jake was doing the same thing. The officer was simply overextended. I couldn’t be mad at him, I understood his situation too much. However, I was so angry at the dispatcher, for telling me to open the door, that a few days later, I began to submit a report of the incidence. I tried multiple times over the weeks that followed and just couldn’t even get through the entire story enough to finish it… even after a few months had passed. I found it was easier to just move on and try not to think about it ever again. In fact this is the first time I’ve put the whole story on “paper.”

But it is because of that moment that my heart never rests easy when I’m alone. The sound of a branch hitting the house, a car backfiring, voices of passers-by, or even our dogs barking at night… all make me feel threatened and that terror rips through me like a knife and I must start putting that night behind me all over again.

I realize that nothing bad actually resulted from this entire incident and many of you will read this and probably will feel that I’m worried over nothing, and that it shouldn’t have impacted me so profoundly. It’s not so much what actually happened as what COULD have resulted that haunts me. And his smell. I can still smell him…

We’ve lived in several city homes after we left that home for Iola and then in Topeka (after he got on with the Fire Dept) none of which I ever felt safe in. It wasn’t until we moved to the country that I started to feel some relief, a sense of comfort, when I was alone with the kids overnight. And it wasn’t until we bought our farm that I felt a sense of “safe” while I’m alone here.