I'm having lots of strange coincidences come together, and some of them are almost creepily unexplainable. The list from the last week alone would be really long, but just believe me that something cosmic is in the air.
The weirdest coincidence, however, happened today.
This morning, in the shower, I got to thinking about random things as I tend to do if not given something to concentrate on. My reverie took me back to a day when I was 17, and a man named Max came to my door. Door-to-door salesmen were pretty unheard of in our suburban neck of the woods, mainly because the houses were sort of spread out and I can't imagine people were very receptive to having anyone other than Girl Scouts come search for cash on their doorsteps.
Max was a tall, young, good-looking black man with a gold tooth, selling magazine subscriptions as a way to pay back for something in lieu of doing community service. I remember not entirely listening to his spiel because I was too busy trying to keep the dog from jumping on him,so those are all the details I can provide today.
I also remember thinking that something was off, but then trying to convince myself that I was only thinking that because black men never came to our neighborhood, and I'm a racist bitch. Trying to shake off the racist assumptions, I convinced myself that Max's unexpected visit was normal despite my gut telling me it was sort of strange.
It was sweltering hot, and Max asked if he could have a glass of water. I told him I would have to shut the door behind me so the dog wouldn't run out, so could he just wait on the porch? He obliged, and I went and fetched the water.
He thanked me, drank it, made small talk, and left. But I felt really, really weird about the whole thing.
If this were to happen today, I know I would handle his visit differently. It was weird to have someone knock on the door at 4 pm. It had never happened before, and I was thrown. I was also 17 and midwestern, and didn't really know how to say no to people.
I've since learned that, in these situations, a lot of times people are really selling something. I've also learned that a lot of other times people are just using the door-to-door scheme to case out houses to rob. So, in retrospect, knowing what I now know, I probably wouldn't have entertained him for fifteen minutes on my doorstep.
Under ordinary circumstances, I also probably would have forgotten this story and Max would have not played any part in my memories of being 17.
However, three or four days later, I was home alone at night. Our house had three floors - two main floors and then a furnished semi-basement. I say "semi-basement" because our house was built onto a hill, so only one half of the "basement" was really in the ground. On the opposite side was a back door that led to our yard.
On this particular night, I took a shower early in the basement bathroom and then headed upstairs to get something to eat. I watched some TV while eating and, when finished, turned off the TV. Oddly, I heard the television downstairs from the kitchen, and so headed back down to turn it off.
However, when I got into the den, there was no TV on. Surprised (I'm not one for hearing things, nor am I one for investigating things if I'm not sure I hear them), I thought it must have been the TV on in my parents bedroom on the main floor. I trucked back up the stairs, into my parents room, and saw the TV wasn't on there, either.
At this point, I started to get a little worried. I had definetly heard voices. I tried wildly to convince myself that this was something electronic on in the house: another TV? A radio? Music? What?
It must be music in my room then, I decided, and I quietly edged my way back down the stairs and into my room.
Nope, nothing there either.
I walked back out into the den to think, and it was then that I noticed our patio door was open. I mean, fully. Like, two feet. It had not been open when I had come down a few minutes prior. I am still to this day convinced someone was in the house.
Whether or not the weirdness of Max's visit was related, I obviously can't be sure. I like to think not. However, I always link the two abnormal events in my mind regardless, especially since people told me that often door-to-door salesman aren't really looking to sell anything.
I was thinking about this, and all of it's creepiness, this morning in the shower. For old time's sake, I went over the graphic details of how I went around the house and turned on all the lights I could, holding a phone in my hand as I made the rounds, locking all the doors. Then I stayed up in the main room until my parents came home.
Replaying the scene was sort of fun in the same way watching horror films in the dark can be: it gave me the shivers and lots of feelings of dread. I turned over, again and again, the possibility of the Max connection, and thought about how creepy it would be if he really HAD been casing out the house.
After I finished my shower, I got dressed, ate some breakfast, did some stuff, blah blah. Then the doorbell rang.
Oddly, it was a young man who was selling drawings to get money to pay for his stay in a shelter. I live on the sixth floor, we have no elevator. People do not come here to sell things. His name was Lionel, and he was tall, good-looking, white, with a silver tooth. Silver, people!
Forgive me for not opening my door any further than I could fit my face through. Not that we have anything to steal, but you can understand my caution. Had it been any other day, I might not have given it a second thought. But today, there was no way I would even give him a glimpse of what was inside.
Strange how things happen like that sometimes.