divine angst

I woke with a start at 4:30 this morning because I heard someone down on the street screaming. Not just yelling, as drunk or crazy people might yell in the wee hours, but soul-wrenching screaming. I thought it was a man, but I suppose it could have been a woman. The scream was just high-pitched enough and edged with that awful sound of panic.

I couldn’t tell exactly what the screamer was yelling, but I thought I heard “Help!” and “Oh, God!”

And just as suddenly as I awoke to the sound, it stopped. I looked at the clock; it said 4:35. I laid awake for a few more minutes, waiting for sirens or other indications of the authorities responding to a 911 call. Nothing.

A few hours later, I woke up again, to a similar sound, though without so much panic. I couldn’t hear words so clearly, either, just a slight variation in sound.

And my eyes popped open.

What was I actually hearing? Not a person down on the street, screaming for his life. Not some incoherent exclamatory sound in the alley below. No, none of those things.

I was hearing Mr. Angst snoring. A gentle snoring. In my ear. And something in my brain translated that into screaming down on the street.