I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT LAST THURSDAY EVENING, AS THE DETAILS ARE STILL SOMEWHAT FRESH IN MY MIND. Last Thursday evening was downright surreal, and it began when I arrived an hour-and-a-half early to Sam and thecomicman’s place in Queens. See, my e-mail gets firewalled at Nautica, so I didn’t get the group message warning me not to show up before 7:45. I expected people to be home at 7, so arriving at 6:00/6:15 didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Since no one was home, I sat down on the front stoop and proceeded to do what people sitting down on the stoop usually do. Basically, I gazed out into space. I vaguely recall phantom children on bicycles whizzing by; the occasional fat blob of a car zooming left to right. It’s too bad I wasn’t paying closer attention. Had I been, I might have noticed the home invasion and robbery that occurred right across the street.

Apparently, around 6:30 pm, a couple guys entered the basement apartment right across from Sam and thecomicman’s abode. They stabbed a guy who lived there in the hand, made off with a bike among other things, then fled on foot. I know all this because, a little before 7 o’clock, a police car pulled up right in front of me as I was sitting on the stoop, and two cops got out and went to knock on the basement apartment door.

The victim, who had a white T-shirt stained red wrapped around his hand, walked out from the apartment with the officers. He was shorter than me, but looked scrappy. He bounced around the sidewalk, looking very uncool and pissed off. He seemed fine. I could hear him explain details of what happened to the cops. Two male perps, black. Ran out the front door. A few moments later, another cop car arrived, followed by an ambulance. Then another cop car, but it had driven down the wrong direction on a one-way street. People kept stopping in front of the stoop asking me what the cops and ambulances were doing there.

There’s a good chance the perps had broken into the apartment while I was sitting there. There is also a good chance they took off from the apartment while I was STILL sitting there. None of the cops asked me if I saw anything, though, so I might be wrong about all that. But while I should have been paying better attention, that doesn’t undo the fact that it was all very entertaining. There I was just sitting there in the silence of the stoop, when suddenly: cop cars, bleeding vic, ambulances with blaring sirens. Then there were the vic’s pals, who all looked like goombas. I could hear them from inside the ambulance,

"Did you see what they looked like? Did you see what they looked like?"

"I never saw them before, goddammit! I just wanna go to the f*ckin’ hospital!"

And after a few more minutes, the ambulance took off, followed by the three cop cars. The neighborhood was silent again. Sam and thecomicman’s landlord, who had a stroke a few years back, came out of the front door and sat next to me on the stoop. He had me confused with someone, and he didn’t seem to believe me when I insisted that I didn’t live there. Or at least I THINK he thought I lived there. He kept asking me questions—very politely—but because he had had that stroke, I couldn’t understand what he was saying. But he kept grumbling things, and asking "Yes or no?" afterward. That was the only part I could understand: "Yes or no?"

I kept answering yes. I had no idea what I was agreeing with, but my answers seemed to make the landlord happy. But then his question-asking got more passionate. I said to myself, "If no one shows up by 8 pm, I’m going home." The landlord tore his copy of the supermarket shopper in half, rolled up one half, and started pounding his fist on the stone railing.
"If no one shows up by 7:30, I’m going home," I said to myself.

But Maggie and Sam inevitably showed up, so I didn’t go home early. And I’m glad I didn’t. I stayed over until 10 before making my trek back to Brooklyn. Given the hour and the decreased volume of subway trains, I didn’t reach my stop until shortly after 11 pm. So I’m walking down the street—it’s about a mile from the station to the block where the house is—and about halfway there a bus arrives. I thank my lucky stars and get on the bus.

Who should be riding home on that same bus, saying "Hello" to me right when I turn around, and wearing quite the fetching outfit composed of a purple dress shirt and black slacks? It’s the City College Campus Crusade for Christ, Chinese Chapter Chick. Her. My step-cousin. We hadn’t seen each other since I ditched her at the Christian rock concert two months ago.

You remember the concert, don’t you? The one she invited me to? Did I ever write about it? Okay, let me do so now. It was okay up until the dude with no neck, wearing a New Orleans Saints football jersey, got on stage and told us all that we damn well better get up on stage with him and confess our sins. Confess our sins because no of us are clean of sin. Get up on stage and confess! Get up on stage or burn in the fires of Hell! I found it interesting that he didn’t offer to confess any of his own sins, too, but I guess he’s pure or something. Pisses Evian and his flatulence doesn’t stink.
Well, frankly, that ticked me off. I make it a point not to pay money to have my self-esteem degraded, and certainly not by some wannabe jock. And the sad thing is, I really was having a good time. Had my stepcousin not been there with me, I would have gotten up, walked out, and slammed the door behind me.

To hear my stepcousin explain it afterward, some Christians are more extreme than others, but for the most part, they’re tolerant. I told her that’s all well and good, but this concert is also supposed to attract newcomers to the C.C.C.C.C., and No-Neck’s Jonathan Edwards style preaching was a bit of a gargatuan turn-off. I was feeling put-off by then, and frankly, her unassuming tolerance of her religion both shocked and terrified me. She had friends she wanted to congratulate for putting the concert together with her. It looked like we’d be there for a while, so I asked if she needed me to accompany her home, because I had a job interview the next morning.

Please note that the concert was on a Friday night, so even though I really did have a job interview scheduled, it probably sounded like I wanted to go home. She said her friends would drop her off. I said "Thank you for inviting me," shook her hand, and went home by myself.

Fast-forward two months, and we meet again on the bus. We chatted for a while, and she actually asked how my job interview went. I explained that I didn’t get the position I interviewed for (I really had an interview!), but things were going okay overall. God, she’s still cute. I asked what she was doing coming home so late, and I found myself feeling relieved when she said it was a Church Club thing, and nothing to do with a date with some boy. I won’t lie; I really considered asking her out. I still could, but I can’t help believing it wouldn’t work out, that religion would inevitably get in the way. But it was really nice seeing her again.