Sitting just down the hill from the Hollywood sign, Mr. W’s house is often shaken by news helicopters; the tranquility is disrupted by crazy, singing neighbors; the cul de sac sometimes clogged with lost drivers, searching for a road that leads to the famous sign. It’s a great street, however it’s right in the middle of a city that’s far from quiet.
Even the wildlife is loud. On more than one occasion, we’ve been woken by deer in the front ivy, squirrels in the peach tree and the neighbor’s noisy dog. But what woke us at 4:30 this morning is something I would have never expected, and have never experienced.
We were sound asleep, probably still in somewhat in food comas from all the cheese we had before dinner, when suddenly a cacophony of chaos commenced outside the bedroom window. A car barreled up the street, followed by the chop of a helicopter and several sirens. Full blast. Mr. W jumped out of bed and ran to the window. My heart leapt into my throat and I choked, “What’s happening?!” I didn’t know whether we were having an earthquake or being attacked by the Taliban or what.
“It’s a car chase,” he said.
I peeked my head through the blinds and watched, astounded, as 4 police officers with guns drawn screamed at the driver, shielding themselves behind the flung open doors of a squad car. “Put your f*@%ing hands on your head!” they were all yelling. Right outside Mr. W's window.
“Oh my God,” I whispered to Mr. W, “If someone gets shot I’m going to freak out.” I had never been witness to anything like it before.
Three more police cars were scattered down the street with their lights flashing, and as the helicopter spotlight swiped the cul de sac again, I watched 4 more officers creep up the street to provide backup to the screamers.
A few minutes in, the instruction changed to “Get on the f%&#ing ground!” Then we heard strange moans and mumbling coming from the driver. He sounded like Frankenstein and I had to wonder if he was drunk.
We couldn’t see past the tree in Mr. W’s front yard, but somewhere just beyond it, the driver had laid himself out on the asphalt. Finally, the officers made their way around the car, never lowering their weapons. The moaning continued, and as the officers wrangled the driver to the backend of the squad, I could make out what he was saying. “I’m so scared! I’m so scared!” Duh, buddy. Maybe you shouldn’t have run from the cops then.
Though the noise of police radios and processes continued for quite some time, we were able to crawl back in bed and doze after we knew all was well back on the street.
“I hope the Prius is okay,” I whispered as I cuddled up against the safety of Mr. W. “Man, my dad would’ve loved this.”