Shrieks & Whispers

Op-Ed by Hurten Eyerdhrums

I’m not trying to cause a scene, and I do realize that he hasn’t hurt anybody. I do think I can be forgiven, though, for wondering who the hell that six-foot-six man is, and I hope you can all understand why I’m a little worried about how loudly he is screaming. 

He has this habit, you have to understand, of showing up at the most inopportune times. I have been dating a very lovely woman for a few months now–we both lead very busy lives, you see–and I finally had the opportunity to have her over for dinner. I had just prepared a delicious beurre blanc sauce to serve with my salmon and asparagus–have you ever had beuree blanc? Think béarnaise without the yolks. It’s rich and this particular batch just happened to be one of my best, if I do say so myself. 

Just as I was serving it to Ethel–yes, her name is Ethel, and no, it doesn’t bother me that it’s so old-fashioned, I actually think it’s endearing. I really do. But just as I was serving it to Ethel the six-foot-six man showed up outside my apartment window and started screaming, like, really loud. 

And I know it could be a lot worse, trust me, because I once visited New York City and I saw a man on a street corner screaming just about every racial slur in the book. The six-foot-six man that stands outside my window just releases a loud, sustained guttural yell. I don’t know how he goes on for so long without taking a breath, but I’ve hypothesized that he uses some kind of advanced circular breathing technique similar to the one smooth jazz saxophonist Vann Burchfield used to set his world record 47-minute long sustained saxophone note. 

Before you ask, I have confirmed that the six-foot-six man that screams outside of my apartment window is not Vann Burchfield, because I once tuned into one of Burchfield’s livestreams during one of the six-foot-six man’s screaming sessions, which rules out the possibility of Burchfield being the perpetrator. 

I’m getting off track. Just as I was serving the beuree blanc sauce to Ethel–and I’m being honest when I say that her old-fashioned name doesn’t bother me even a little bit–this mysterious man appeared at my apartment window and began to scream. I was immediately bombarded with questions like ‘who the hell is that guy?’ and ‘what is he doing here?’ and my least favorite, ‘why don’t you call the police or something?’ because, let’s be honest, there’s a hell of a  lot of ways the situation could go south when the police get involved with a strange man inexplicably screaming on a top floor fire escape. I don’t want to be responsible for anything like that. 

Honestly, I lost a lot of attraction for Ethel in that moment–because of her suggestion to involve the police, not because she has a weird, old-fashioned grandmother name–and needless to say I ended up eating my salmon and asparagus with beuree blanc sauce alone. I did offer some to the six-foot-six man who was screaming at my apartment window, hoping that he would quiet down a bit as he ate, but he was essentially nonresponsive. 

So, I don’t want to give anybody a hard time or anything, but I’m really starting to wonder who this man is. How does he simply appear there? He doesn’t climb up the fire escape as far as I can tell. Nobody else in the apartment building has reported seeing him climb up or down. They certainly do hear him, though, so I can’t be accused of losing my mind. People are always telling me how annoyed they are, as though he isn’t screaming directly into my window. But honestly, after you accept it and get used to it it’s kind of relaxing.

I mean, my upstairs neighbor Brian is so much of a Beatles fanatic that he actually listens to Yoko Ono recordings. But he’s going to criticize the six-foot-six man for screaming just because he’s not married to John Lennon? 

Let me be clear, as well, that I’m not making fun of Yoko Ono, either. I read reviews of the Beatles documentary a few years ago and I understand that criticism of Yoko Ono is rooted in sexist ideas of male creative supremacy. I’m just saying that if Brian will listen to her recordings he doesn’t really have any reason to get mad about the six-foot-six man screaming outside my apartment window, even if it’s at 3:00 AM. Right?

Sure, the timing is bad. But what kind of life struggles is the six-foot-six facing? We haven’t thought about that very much, have we? Maybe his presence is a gift. Maybe he’s here to help us self-reflect and learn more about ourselves. He taught me that it’s probably not going to work out with Ethel, and it’s all because of her regressive views about law enforcement and nothing to do with her old, antiquated name. 

You know what nobody has ever said to the six-foot-six man screaming into my apartment window? ‘Thank you.’ Maybe he’s here to make us consider who we do and don’t want in our lives. Maybe he’s here to jolt us into just thinking about our situation and surroundings, just for a moment. 

Maybe I’m asking the wrong question. Maybe it doesn’t matter who he is. Maybe I should be trying to learn what he’s screaming about. Maybe. Maybe.