Monday, May 2, 2011
When I told my friends about the incident, and that a man named Leroy broke into my house, none had this guy as their mental image of the perpetrator. There is really no good reason to blog this now apart from the fact that it popped into my head and absolutely must be documented. And it was about the most random and strange thing that could happen.
So, when living with DJ and Pete on 28th street in midtown, and about the time the free fall started, I had the good fortune of meeting Leroy. In my front room. While I was sleeping, or upon waking from sleep. Good times.
My bedroom was a separate room from the front in that it had doors shutting it off from the rest of the house, but it was located in the front of the house. And being the guy with the best TV at the time was the spot for ball game watching, movie nights, etc. And there was a lazy boy like chair as well as a couch in there too.
On the night in question, Pete had some company from out of town which included, I believe, his brother from New York. During their visit, they went out drinking and doing other things that would bring a person around after hours. So, when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I didn't think twice upon seeing a shadowed form sleeping in a chair in the dining room. Figured it was a guest of a guest or something. I passed it and went back to my slumber.
Well, after falling back asleep for probably a half hour, I awoke to a stranger sitting in the chair adjacent to me (a different chair than the one in the dining room where I saw the shadowed form). He was looking at me. And he was close. With a start, I asked, "who the fuck are you?". I expected him to say he was friends with Pete or his brother or something, but what I got was a confounding drunken utterance "shbizedabballalala".
I still figured he was a guest and so gave him another chance to figure out how to introduce himself. "Hey man, who are you and what are you doing in here?" More incoherent ramblings came from him. I was fully awake now, after twenty seconds and was probably close to it as soon as I saw the guy. After going back and forth a few times, I told the guy, "Look. You'd better start making some effing sense real effing quick if you don't want to take the uncomfortable way out of here, bouncing down the stairs". He still couldn't get it together, but I noticed, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, that he was pretty banged up.
I said "hey man, are you all right? You look like you're in pretty bad shape". He gave himself a drunk and deliberate look over and said he got run over by a car and broke himself, or something like that. So, I turned on the light and beheld his wounds. They were impressive. In addition to an internal injury I couldn't even venture a guess at, he was bleeding everywhere and had some very visible cuts on his face and arms.
I took him to the kitchen and cleaned him up. While I wiped the blood off his face, I asked his name. He said "Leroy". Huh. He didn't look like a Leroy. A Brad maybe, or Jason. Not Leroy. Fortunately for him, the incoherence of his first utterances bought him enough time to be spared what could have been a very undignified reaction by me. As it was, I was performing triage on the guy who broke into my house. And he was sobering up a little bit.
He apparently was trying to drive and wrapped his car somewhere around fifteen blocks away. I got mad at him all over again for being a jerk drunk driver and asked him if he killed anyone. He said he hit a parked car. Jokingly, I asked if he left a note. He actually pondered this and replied "No man. That's messed up though. I should have. I messed that car up pretty bad." I told him that in the aftermath, they'd be able to figure out who owned the car that did the damage and track him down for his insurance.
Leroy told me that his dad wrote songs for Frank Sinatra and pretty much advertised himself as "kind of a big deal". Even though I quoted that, he didn't say that. But he did imply it. He lived in Roseville and had a girlfriend. He managed to get a hold of her and offered me-or maybe I kind of extorted-some gas money to drop him off halfway.
After him buying my silence and cooperation, we stopped at circle K where I bought him a cup of coffee and told him how lucky he was to have gotten my help instead of in jail or at the bottom of my stairs in a heap. "You can't just go breaking into people's houses in the middle of the night and stare at them while they're sleeping. At least not around here, man." He admitted that he was a bit frightened about the potential for calamity when he figured out what was going on.
I dropped him off and handed him over to his girlfriend and her brother where they gave him that look that said "again Leroy, you need to get your drinking under control", but verbally just thanked me. And so that's what happened. It was far more dramatic at the time. But a drunk guy named Leroy broke into my house after crashing his car, walking at least two miles, and crawling up my steps, and climbing into the chair next to where I slept, and gazed upon me until I woke. Good times.