The Altercation

 

I had officially moved in with Scott.  We lived in a blue house on the edge of town, just off the highway.  There were a few other houses up past ours, and the driveway to those houses ran along the edge of our yard.  Our bedroom, along with the front door of the house, also faced this same driveway.

One summer night, around midnight, I woke up to lights blazing in my face.  I was disoriented as I tried to shake the sleep from my head.  Scott was already awake, sitting up in bed, looking out the window.  As full consciousness slowly cleared the fog, I realized the lights were coming from outside.  

"What's going on?" I asked groggily.

Scott shook his head.  "Not sure."

We heard two car doors open, then slam shut as a man and a woman got out of the car in mid-argument.  They were using all the colorful language, accusing each other of awful things as they flung insults at each other like cow pies, hoping one would stick.  Their headlights happened to be pointing directly into our bedroom, but they were much too preoccupied to notice.  

Scott and I sat in bed for a few moments, listening to the lovers' quarrel.  

Finally, I asked, "Should we call the police?"

"No," Scott replied.  "I bet they'll work it out."

We continued to listen.  The argument only gained momentum.  I got up and closed the windows.  It helped block the noise, but the headlights lit up the bedroom like the Griswolds' house on Christmas Vacation.  We didn't have curtains, so we had no choice but to sit there in the spotlights.

Minutes went by.  I kept thinking they would run out of insults or tire of the argument.  Neither happened.  The insults escalated, the volume escalated, and finally, Scott had had enough.  

He got out of bed, opened his nightstand, and grabbed a giant pistol.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Out there," he replied as he strode out of the bedroom.

Neither of us had the forethought that Scott should put on some clothes.

I followed him as he stomped to the front door, flung it open, and stepped out onto the porch.  There he was, all 6'4" tall and 225 pounds, standing fully nude, pistol dangling by his side, illuminated in the headlights of the car.

"Hey," he said calmly.

The woman, on the passenger side of the car, stood facing her boyfriend and our house.  She was mid-insult when she noticed Scott, and instantly fell silent.  The man, ready for his retort, seemed confused at the woman's lack of conclusion.  He noticed her mouth dropping open as she stared past him at the house.  He slowly turned around and looked.  

I watched his jaw drop as I stood behind Scott.  I can't begin to imagine the thoughts running through their heads, seeing a giant, broad-shouldered, buck-naked man standing in a doorway with a pistol in his hand.  Both of them stared for what felt like minutes.  I wonder if they thought they were hallucinating.  Scott didn't move, didn't speak, just stood and stared right back.  

Finally, slowly and wordlessly, the man turned and climbed into the car.  The woman followed suit.  They closed their doors quietly, carefully backed down the driveway, and pulled out onto the highway.

Scott shrugged, closed the door, and walked back to the bedroom.

"Now what?" I asked.  

He shrugged again.  "I guess we go back to sleep."