At Montana Personal Connect, I see it again:
Inbox (1).
I click the link.
Hi Edward!
Your SO funny. I liked your note very much. I would like to keep talking to you. You have a kind face too. I like youre eyes.
Let’s do this OK? I will ask you five questions about yourself and then you write back with the answers and five questions about me.
Here are some questions.
1. Where were you born?
2. Do you have any nicknames?
3. What do you like to do on a date?
4. Do you have any brothers or sisters?
5. Would you help the roadrunner escape from the coyote or help the coyote catch the roadrunner?
Write back!
This is a confounding woman. She has gotten no better at grammar, and I may have to prepare myself for the possibility that she never will. But she also asks really good, although random, questions.
I will have to think about this for a while.
After dinner—a Banquet roast-beef-and-potatoes frozen meal—I write back.
Joy:
You ask really good questions.
1. I was born here in Billings on January 9, 1969.
2. My mother used to call me Teddy when I was a little boy, but I prefer Edward.
3. I think I would like to see a movie on a date. I like movies. Also, if you eat dinner after the movie, you have something to talk about.
4. I am my parents’ only child.
5. I’m not sure why this matters, but it seems to me that the roadrunner needs no help in escaping the coyote—that’s the whole point of the cartoon, that the coyote never wins. I suppose I would help the coyote, although what I would really like to do is be the guy who invents things for Acme.
Here are five questions for you:
1. How many online dates have you been on?
2. What is your favorite season?
3. Do you watch Dragnet? If so, what is your favorite episode?
4. What music do you like?
5. Where do you go on vacation?
At 10:00 p.m. sharp, I sit down for my nightly Dragnet episode. Tonight, I am watching the twenty-fourth episode of the fourth and final season, “Robbery: The Harassing Wife.” It originally aired on April 2, 1970, and it is one of my favorites.
In this one, an ex-convict named John Sawyer—played by Herbert Ellis, who appeared in three of the color episodes—is repeatedly accused by his bitter, estranged wife of committing robberies. Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon, having to take seriously allegations against an ex-convict, repeatedly investigate John Sawyer and conclude that he did not commit the crimes he has been accused of doing.
Finally, John Sawyer does commit a robbery, thinking that Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon won’t believe that he did it, since his wife’s stories are not panning out. This is a grave miscalculation on his part, because Sergeant Joe Friday always gets his man.
Once John Sawyer is in custody, his wife gets very angry with Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon for throwing him in jail. She turned him in for all the crimes he didn’t commit only because she wanted him to come back to her.
Some women have funny ways of saying what they want.
I shut off the TV and videocassette recorder, and then I go to the front window to close the curtain. Another day is almost over. It’s one of the most exhausting I can remember, although I do not keep data on my level of exhaustion each day. In any case, I am happy that it is through.
Across the street, under the streetlight, I can see Donna Middleton standing behind her car. She is talking to a man. Her arms are moving rapidly. He is leaning in toward her. It looks like he is yelling.
I step over to the front door and crack it open. I can hear them.
“You’re supposed to stay away from me, Mike.”
Mike. Holy shit!
“I just want to talk,” he yells at her.
“No!”
“Yes, goddamn it!”
This is bad. Up and down my block, lights are coming on.
“I never want to talk to you again.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“Because you’re a fucking cunt, that’s why.”
This is really bad. I go over to the telephone and dial.
“Nine-one-one emergency.”
“A man and a woman are arguing on my street. I think she has a restraining order against him.”
“What’s the address?”
“Six Twenty-Eight Clark Avenue.”
“Do you know the woman’s name?”
“Donna Middleton.”
“Do you know the man’s name?”
“Mike. That’s all I know.”
“Can you see what’s happening now?”
I go back to the front window. “They’re yelling.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Edward Stanton.”
“And where do you live, sir?”
“Six Thirty-Nine Clark Avenue.”
“Can you still see them, sir?”
“Yes.”
“What are they doing?”
“Still yelling.”
It happens so fast that I gasp in shock. Mike strikes Donna Middleton across the cheek with the back of his right hand. Her body jumps at the blow and lands against her car, and then she falls to the ground.
“He just hit her!”
“OK, sir. Stay calm. Officers are on the way.”
Donna Middleton is on her hands and knees, and she’s trying to scramble away. Mike grabs her and flings her backward to the concrete of the driveway, where she lands on her back, and then he pounces down upon her and wraps his hands around her neck.
“He’s choking her.”
“Sir, officers are almost there. Stay with me.”
“I have to help her.”
“Sir, stay right here on the phone.”
As if out of nowhere, three police cars converge on Donna Middleton’s house. The officers emerge from the cars, guns drawn. I can hear them yelling at Mike.
“Hands off her. Stand up. Hands behind your head.”
After Mike lets go and climbs to his feet, two of the police officers take him hard to the ground and cuff him, while the other attends to Donna Middleton. An ambulance rolls up. My neighborhood is lit up with red-and-blue strobes. I can see my neighbors standing on their front porches, talking and gawking.
After Mike is wrestled into a police car and taken away, one of the officers who tackled him crosses the street and walks up to my house. I meet him at the door. I have seen this police officer before.
“Is she OK?” I ask.
“She’s shaken. She’ll have some bruises. But she’ll be OK.”
“She has a restraining order against that man, doesn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Why was he here, then?”
“Well, it’s a court order. It’s not a jail cell. He’ll be in one of those soon enough.”
“It’s terrible.”
“Yes, it is. It could have been a lot worse, Mr. Stanton. Thanks for calling it in.”
“You’re not going to call my father, are you?”
The officer chuckles. “No. You did the right thing.”
Mike:
You are scum. You are subhuman. You are a horrible, horrible man.
You have no right to go where you are not wanted, to defy a legal restraining order against you. You have no right to be at Donna Middleton’s house. You have no right to yell at her, to hit her, to choke her.