I’ll never forget the day we “met” during the Covid era. It was 2021 and we were all still working from home, schooling from home. You were a new tenant in my small apartment building. You were angry. You were banging at my door calling me a fucking bitch and a cunt. Screaming how you could hear me and I better come to the door or you’d beat my face in. 

I was on a work call. 

I ignored you. 

Obviously. 

You went to each door on the second floor. Pounding. Screaming like you were fresh from a southern trailer park itching for a fight. Getting progressively more and more manic until someone answered. You were mad about footsteps. You worked nights. 

Now, my apartment didn’t overlap yours at all. Nor did any units on the east side of the building. A fact that might have escaped you. 

I heard you worked nights. I assumed you were a stressed and overworked first responder. I let it go until it happened again. The screaming and pounding. Trapping me in my own home.

I got your name from a package in the hall delivered from walla-walla. I looked you up on social media. You were not a first responder. You were a bathroom attendant at a nightclub in pioneer square. Worse? The package was from your husband in walla-walla penitentiary. 

You had multiple assaults on your record. Shocker. 

You’d leave your dog alone and uncrated for hours on end. He would catapult himself at your apartment door. Crying, barking and ripping the door apart. 

I recorded it. 

You’d smoke so much weed our lobby would be like a cloud forest. You’d leave garbage and recycle on the front steps instead of properly disposing of it. I took notes. I took pictures. I started emailing management everything. 

The pounding and angry outbursts continued as management assured me you were sorry and it wouldn’t happen again. 

I looked up your husband to find he was in jail for quite literally shooting a previous neighbor and had a mile long rap sheet for home invasions and burglary. He was due to be released in a few months. To move into my building. 

This is another incident of Seattle city code gone awry. Landlords cannot refuse tenancy due to criminal records. Perfect. A violent career criminal downstairs. 

And you, knowing he would be released to your home continued to heavily smoke weed and post about it on social media. Cute. Nice pics of you and the blunts. Smart one there De. 

I watched your moves on social media. I got to know you from my side of the screen. You were mid 30s, overweight and pasty with heavy glitter eye make-up that reflected your hot topic and MySpace emo days. You captioned everything with sad early aughts lyrics. You were always on a diet and talking about fitness goals. They always failed. You loved to cook and participate in our local buy nothing group. Your husband was Pacific Islander or perhaps native. Tall and handsome in that bad boy way. Out of your league but you financially supported him as you posted how excited you were for his release. You’d fight his baby mamas and exes on Facebook because you were “different than the rest” You’d had a prison wedding. 

I felt bad for you. It was clear you had a childhood that was rough with little parental love and a plethora of poverty. I could see you just wanted to be loved and felt victorious that you’d “won” Andy. 

He was released about 6 months later. He moved in. He bought you a new ring, much bigger. You got a new Cadillac. He seemed to have several cars. The cops showed up a lot but you seemed happier. You raged on the neighbors a lot less. He’d sit in the car outside the building late nights doing exchanges of some sort. He was indeed handsome and friendly, with confidence and ease in his interactions. It took about a month for him to leave you. 

I found a place I wanted to move to in April of 2022. I’d have to break my lease and the property management company wanted just under 10g for me to do so. 

De, I used you as my presentation on why I should not be forced to pay this. Really, it had nothing to do with you. It was an anhalt and I was in love with it. Sure, you were annoying but I went full out. I pulled your FOIA records for your assaults. I creeped your Facebook posts deep enough to show you’d come from very low income housing just prior to moving in. I calculated the previous buildings income requirements to prove that you did not meet the advertised requirements of 3 times the monthly rent of your unit. I accused them of not doing due diligence. I attached the police report that showed you’d been evicted from the low income building for assaulting your neighbor and spent time in jail. I noted all my reports of a hostile living environment. How it was not safe for my child. I found the owners of the property management company and cc’d them. I let them know my forwarding address and asked they send me the bill so I could forward it to a lawyer. 

I never heard from them again,

Except for when they sent my full deposit refund. 

So in a way, I thank you De.

You sucked to live next to, but you’re a troubled girl with troubled roots who never stood a chance. But you tried. It was obvious that you just wanted stability. 

I still think of you once in a while. I checked your socials the other day. Yes, your nice girl Facebook and your alternative one. 

On your nice girl one, the one with your real name, you repost captions and memes all day everyday. You speak repeatedly of wishing you were dead and nobody replies. On your alternative Facebook you publicly brawl. Tagging people in unhinged rants and threats like the real housewives of a spanaway trailer park. You have a fake boyfriend on that profile. A fake temu engagement ring for your dream wedding this spring. You’ll show them you’re better than they are. 

You post pictures of your ex-husband and his new girl. You say you feel bad for her in one breath and in the next condemn her and say you hope she enjoys her face beaten in like the dumb bitch she is. 

You’re a chronic victim. A personality trait I loathe. However in your case, you were born into it and it’s going to take a whole lot of work to pull yourself out. 

Oh De. You don’t even know me but we sure go back. 

Godspeed my girl.