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Little Old Lady Crime WatchI harbor a stereotype about eccentric little old ladies in the city, obsessed with tracking the comings and goings of criminal types and the cops who track them. A one-old-woman neighborhood watch of sorts. My husband Andrés and I live on a pretty busy street corner in Boston, and there is some crime here. In the 4 years I’ve lived here, the worst crimes in a 5-block radius have been a stabbing and a sexual assault, but neither were random acts of violence – the first were students in a bar fight, and the second an ex-boyfriend pleading for a reconciliation, and taking it criminally too far. Once I saw a guy in jeans and a leather coat bend another guy backwards over the hood of a car and hit him in the face with something, and then he just held him by the throat. I called 911, but it turns out the jeans-and-jacket guy was an undercover cop waiting for backup. Normally, though, we get drunk kids or panhandlers, an occasional traffic stop that alerts police to a warrant for that person’s arrest. Relatively small stuff, but thrilling to watch nonetheless. We’ve struck the perfect balance between an exciting neighborhood, but one in which we feel relatively safe. Most of the action happens at night, so I turn off the lights in our apartment so it’s harder for people outside to see us. I usually peer out from behind the curtain, or pace back and forth in front of the window so if someone looks up it will seem like I just casually glanced outside while going about my normal routine. If they’re standing directly below the windows, too close to the building to be seen, I go into my shower, which has a window that offers the best acoustics to the sidewalk below. I’m terrified that the accused – or worse, the police – will mistake me for an eccentric old lady. But Andres has no qualms about openly staring outside, kneeling backwards on the couch directly in front of the window that has no curtain. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him lay on his stomach and settle in, his chin resting on his the backs of his hands, senior-picture-style. He doesn’t care if someone sees that he is watching. Often he gets his police scanner to see if he can hear any details of the crime (yes, we have a police scanner). In summer, when the windows are open, I swear the police are going to hear their police radios is stereo, from their waistbands and, mysteriously, from the window above. Then they will look up and see us staring. It’s entirely likely they will assume I’m an old lady from the distance and my semi-obscured face from behind the curtain. And then I’ll be forever branded: eccentric old lady crime watcher. ** this is a work-in-progress. I welcome your criticism.** |
15 minutes media