I HEARD HER SCREAM

I HEARD HER SCREAM

..was that a shot?..

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When I was a preteen, my family and I lived in a three-family apartment building. Back then, you’d swear the walls were made of paper. If your neighbor, on either floor (it was a three-family walk-up) sneezed, you’d often, without thinking and very instinctively, say, “Bless you.” Just as quickly, you’d hear a “Thank you” in return.

Our mother taught us at an early age to be as quiet as possible for that very reason.

Although the neighbors tried their best to maintain some degree of privacy, it more often than not proved otherwise.

Another problem that put holes in the privacy matter was the old coal chute. While several older apartment buildings sealed them closed as they transitioned from coal to gas, there were still many that did not. Out fell into the category of the latter. I swear we could hear our neighbors - - well, burp!

It was an interesting and yet intrusive way to live.

To say the neighbors were close friends wouldn’t be accurate. They weren’t. The men had various job which required a variety of hours which didn’t include the time spent traveling to their places of employment. The women kept themselves busy being homemakers and of course there were the women, like my mom, who found it necessary to have outside, paying jobs which only made maintaining the home more difficult. Time, circumstances, and the era weren’t easy on family life.

While we weren’t overly friendly with our neighbors, their children, as they grew were quick to form friendships, many that have lasted the test of time and are to this day, as strong as ever (but that’s another story).

Many of the landlords tried to keep one apartment empty anticipating any one of their young descendants marrying and needing a place to live while they settled in to married life. That was the case with our landlady. Her husband started that practice when he purchased the building, and she kept the practice going long after he succumbed to a brain aneurysm.

I must have been about twelve years old when our landlady rented the bottom apartment to a young couple, SueEllen and Tony. While SueEllen’s parents lived within four miles of where I was growing up, we didn’t know much about Tony except that SueEllen met him at a party. She was nineteen and he was twenty-four and from the next town. The first time we met him was at their wedding.

Not long after their wedding, SueEllen announced that she was pregnant. Anyone who knew her was thrilled for the young couple and just over nine months later (yes, the baby was three weeks late), she gave birth to Kathleen, What a beautiful baby! Like her mom, Kathleen had copper red hair and green eyes.

Once a month, SueEllen and Tony would ask me to babysit Kathleen so they could have a date night that included dinner and a movie. Back then, I only earned five dollars for the length of time they were out. Now it doesn't seem like much but back then, it was more than I dreamed of.

One night, after they’d arrived back at their apartment, instinctively, I knew something was wrong. Tony handed me a five-dollar bill but said nothing. SueEllen, not asking about her daughter, thanked me and walked to the kitchen. It was awkward. Normally, SueEllen would ask if her daughter had been fussy, if she drank the bottle she’d left for her. Tony and SueEllen would walk me to the door and thank me. That night, I received no walk to the door, nor a thank you from Tony. Guess you could say, I took my cue and quietly walked out and walked up the stairs to where I lived.

As I began walking up the steps, I thought I heard a thud, as if someone stumbled against a wall. Then, I heard SueEllen yell, “Don’t you ever touch me like that again, you filthy piece of slime.”

I froze in my tracks. I wanted to run the rest of the way upstairs and bury my head under my pillow but not knowing what was happening had me almost paralyzed with fear. If I could have walked on air to avoid the squeak of the steps, I would have. But the old steps in the old building squeaked badly. Placing one foot at the closest edge of each step that abutted the wall, I tiptoed slowly until I reached the landing where my front door stood, unlocked, waiting for me.

My mother looked at my face and asked what happened. I said, “Mom, I think Tony hit SueEllen.” I told her what took place when they walked in their front door and, Dad overhearing our conversation asked, “Mary, do you think I should go downstairs and make sure she’s ok?” Mom said to wait. We shouldn’t stick our noses in the personal lives of others. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as they imagined. Dad looked worried but agreed.

With the exception of the normal cries of baby Kathleen, the following two weeks were quiet in the Caputo apartment. My parents relaxed thinking what I thought I heard was either an error in my judgement or a one-time argument and was quickly resolved.

It was now the middle of a very hot and humid August. My thirteenth birthday had come and gone and my first year of high school was just around the corner. Mom and Dad were in the living room watching their favorite TV show, The Perry Como Show. My brother was in his bedroom, trying out new cords on his guitar and I was in the kitchen pouring a glass of milk to go with the chocolate chip cookies my grandmother made the day before.

That’s when I heard SueEllen scream. “You’re killing me. Stop! Oh, Tony, for God’s sake stop! I can’t breathe.”

I heard her begin to cough as though she were choking. I heard what sounded like furniture being pushed around.

Forgetting my milk, I ran into the living room and said, “Dad, he’s killing her. This time, I think he’s really killing her.”

I’d never seen my dad move so quickly. He was out the door as my mother started to say, “Oh, Frank, be careful.”

Dad was halfway down the stairs when he heard what sounded like a gunshot. He stopped in his tracks. As my mother stood at our door, dad looked up and said, “Mary, dial 911.”

The only sound we heard next was ear-piercing, hysterical wails of baby Kathleen.