It was a listless summer day in New York, with not much to do except slowly rot away on your living room couch while binge watching your favorite shows on Netflix; which was exactly what I did. The day was brutal, like any other sweltering July evening; with the birds too hot to chirp their annoying songs, with the trees too tired to offer any shade, and with the sun too narcissistic to to chill some and put on shades. But, I couldn’t blame the sun for my discomfort, after all I was just too lazy to turn on the fan, too lazy to beg my dad to put on the AC, too lazy to get my blessed chocolate chip ice cream from the freezer, and especially too lazy to walk my lazy dog outside in the arid desert. Basically it was a lazy day, but I was perfectly content with watching TV on my leather couch, while at the same time washing out everything I learned from the last school year. It was truly a peaceful day.

While letting my thoughts wander, I thought of all the productive activities I could've been doing. I signed up for the summer reading program at the local library; I could be reading a book to reboost by dead brain cells. Or I could go out somewhere with friends and hang out at the mall. Or perhaps I could go on my treadmill and work out some since I seriously need to build some stamina. But honestly fudge all of that; I don’t need to have a social life, or be athletic, or make my brain work when school’s out; like I said I’m perfectly happy with being lazy, thank you very much.

It was 11AM when I finally reached the second season of the show. With a sense of pride and accomplishment, I started on the next episode, with high hopes that I’d be finished with the series by today. But of course, things couldn’t go by so smoothly now could it. Of course, the doorbell had to flipping ring. Fudge.

My brain was shaken from all the dust it collected during my binge; with each ring of the bell, I got more pissed off. Who in their right mind would be outside in that Saharan Desert! I prayed to God that the monstrosity would just leave. The bell rang again. I pleaded that the visitor would have mercy; it was like having Death knocking on your bathroom door when you’re trying to have some flipping privacy. If this was the mailman I swear that I’d send out my dog to attack him; he was already raring to go as he barked viciously at the door like someone just stole his favorite taco plushie; he wasn't that fond of people in general.

I thought of who could possible answer the door other than me. My sister had headphones on while she was watching her boring shows; she didn’t show any sign of answering the door, clearly she wouldn’t be of much help. My brother was only 5 at the time, so he was also out of the running. My dad was out at an auto shop, looking for car parts to revive his already long dead car; that car seriously needed to rest in peace, but he was too stubborn to listen. Then my mom came to mind, maybe she could do it…

My mom said, “Jadira could you get the door for me please!”

Fudge, I had no choice now; I knew better than to disobey my own mom, and I honestly didn't feel like being on her bad side today. The bell rang again.

“Jadira!” she called.

“Okay, I got it.” I responded, as I began the process of actually doing something productive.

But first and foremost, I had to summon the will to get up from the couch, which I had comfortably settled in. Legs stretching from my curled position, arms reaching for the remote as I paused the episode, and eyes rapidly blinking away the dizziness from staring at the TV screen for too long.

Damn this sucked.

Finally, I stood and began my long hike to the front door. Careful not to slip with my fuzzy pink socks, I made a trek across the icy, smooth marbled floors. This was truly such a drag, I thought as I finally neared the endless hallway with my faithful dog warrior in tow. Being the cautious person I am, I hid behind the grandfather clock and peeked at the glass door to see if I could get a glimpse at this annoying intruder.

I’ve always been super suspicious when it came to opening and answering the door, my mother played a big part in that as she drilled in my head to check the driveway for any familiar cars or being wary of anyone and everything that arrives at your front door. For all you know you could be opening the door to some crazy clown with a chainsaw wanting to rob you of your WiiU and collection of video games, the thought gave me shivers. And especially after recently having a dream of someone breaking into my house because I was stupid enough to open the door made me especially wary. With my ferocious, miniature guard dog, my terrifying fuzzy socks, and my horrifying fashion sense of fluffy pants, we were sure to threaten anyone who dared to mess with us. With my mom’s warning in mind I was all set to confront this idiot who knocked on my door in the middle of a Netflix session.

I wasn’t able to make out much from the person at the front door, other than that it was most likely a guy in his 40s or early 50s perhaps? Honestly, it was a mystery to me how people always made out accurate descriptions of a person that assaulted them on the news such as the person’s weight and height, like how is someone supposed to make out such small details! Putting that aside, I figured that I most likely didn’t know the person since their overall shape didn’t ring any bells. But, I went to the door anyways, just to make sure this person wasn’t in need of dire help or that my judgement was completely off and I actually knew the person. Of course I didn’t open the door, I’m not that stupid.

“Yes, can I help you?”, I asked through the glass door, as I finally got a better look at the guy since I moved away from my hiding place.

My judgment was completely correct; I definitely didn’t know this guy. He was pretty… large, to put it in a nice way, but not large enough to give me concern for his health, but I tried my best not to judge. He had a dark skin color, dark brown eyes, and what looked like to be curly brown hair underneath a navy blue Yankees cap, which was darkened from his sweat. One thing that stood out for sure was that this guy sweated a lot; I mean sure it was hell outside but he looked like he had just ran away from his ex-girlfriend. His white t shirt was drenched in sweat, his jeans looked extremely uncomfortable, and I suddenly felt grateful for my fluffy pants. I’m 99.9% sure he was wearing shoes, but I wasn’t really checking.

Whether or not this guy was a family friend or some telemarketer, I had no idea, but I was about to find out.

The man said, “May I use your telephone please?”

What the fudge? This guy must’ve been high on gummy bears or something. I mean, who in their right mind would go to someone’s house to ask such a thing? And why my house of all things? I lived in a cul de sac of 6 houses, and my house was all the way at the bottom of the U shaped it formed; so if someone were to ask for something, wouldn't they just stop by the first two houses instead of going all the way down here? Plus, we didn’t get many visitors around these parts, mostly just cars making u turns; and of all the 7 years I’ve been living here, we’ve only had one trick or treater; so yeah, it was awfully weird to have this guy at my front door.

I responded, “I’m sorry but I’m not sure I could let you use our phone.”

The man seemed to grow anxious and restless at my response. I suddenly took notice at the water bottle in his hand as he took a gulp from the already more than half empty bottle. His sweating only worsened, and I was growing more tense as this exchange went on, despite the fact we had a door between us.

The man said, “I need to make a very important call, so I’d appreciate if I could use your phone.”

Another thought popped in my head as I mulled over how crazy this guy was. Doesn’t everyone have a phone on them these days? And even if it somehow died, wouldn’t a person have some type of charger with them? Plus payphones still exist don’t they; even though I haven’t seen one in years…

One thing for sure, was that this guy was suspicious with a capital s. Even more suspicious than me trying to slip a couple of cupcakes from a birthday party in my jacket to take home with me. Still, I felt pretty bad for the guy since he was out there sweating enough buckets to fill the Nile River; but I wasn’t sure whether he was sweating because of the heat or nervousness of something else.

For all I know, once I open the door, he could knock me out cold and rob the place; even worse perhaps he was hiding a weapon… no that wouldn’t happen, I’ve been watching too many CSI episodes with my grandpa. But there was still that whisper in the back of my head, that anything was possible, and that if I open that door, I could’ve sealed my fate.

But I’m the definition of a scaredy cat, so I wasn’t going to open that door no matter what.

I responded, “Sorry but I really can’t let you use our phone.”

The man really didn’t seem pleased with my answer, and as time went on, my fear only grew. I knew it was broad daylight, I knew my dog would bite this guy’s face off if he posed any threat, but I also knew this door was glass, and that there were some crazy people out there beyond my comprehension. And it wasn’t impossible for this guy at my front door to be a someone who genuinely needs help, or a robber, or perhaps something even worse. And all that was separating us was a glass door.

While I was starting to panic, I heard something approaching. The rumbliling of glass as thundering footsteps approached me, the sound I would usually fear if I did something wrong, but this time it provided comfort and security, like the soothing rain that came with an intimidating storm. I began to feel relaxed as the tension I didn’t realize I had was beginning to slip away from me, a welcoming warmth compared to the relentless heat of the outside. My mother was certainly more assuring than a glass door.

My mom said, “Jadira what’s going on? What’s taking you so long? Who is it?”

I explained to her the problem as my mom took notice at the guy outside the door, while he too took notice of the newcomer.

My mom reassured me and said she could handle it from here, and I didn’t doubt her one bit.

My mom asked the guy, “How can I help you?”

He responded, “Could I use your bathroom?”

Bathroom?! Woah there, I thought. This guy can’t be serious. Did he really just change his story?! First the telephone and now this. I’m not sure whether he thought it was more believable to ask to use the bathroom than the telephone, but this was just ridiculous. If this guy was changing his story like that, he obviously didn’t have honest intentions. With this question, he only solidified my suspicions, but my fears of the truth didn’t consume me, because I knew I had the support of my mother, and nobody could mess with her.

My mom looked at me as if she were silently asking if this was really happening, I just responded with a shrug.

With a sigh, but her guard up high, she said to the man with a stern but polite voice, “Sorry but I’m afraid we can’t let you use our bathroom, but you could go to a store or gas station and use the restroom there.”

I was awed by my mom’s confidence and ability to handle the situation so well, she was always such a dependable person; the definition of a super mom.

I diverted my attention back to the man, he seemed a bit more irritated and anxious after hearing my mother’s reply. He probably realized he was getting nowhere with us, so with yet another big gulp of water, which was practically empty now, he departed from our doorstep and went down the long, treacherous walkway, whose stones would trip any man that underestimated its resolve. As I watched him go, I thought, wouldn’t a person avoid drinking so much water if they needed to use the bathroom that badly?

With an exasperated sigh, my mother lectured me again about always being cautious and not opening the door for any stranger. Of course, I knew all of this already, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still a bit shaken up after that encounter with a man that seemed off from the very beginning. Sure, his excuses and stories weren’t all that believable or convincing enough for us to let him inside our house, but the lingering shadow of thought that perhaps he had malicious intentions beyond our imagination made it all the more terrifying.

Once her lecture was over, I thanked my mom for helping me out, and she went back to the kitchen to resume her cooking. As soon as she was out of sight, I went up to the front door and peered through the glass to see if I could catch a glimpse of the man again, just in case.

I took notice of a dark blue truck parked near the house opposite of ours; I was never good at identifying cars so I couldn’t tell if it was expensive or not, but it looked in pretty good condition. Why didn’t the man drive to a McDonald’s or something to use the bathroom? Or buy one of those cheap cell phones they sell at gas stations? This guy obviously had other things in mind.

I spotted the man walking up to his car, sitting at the driver’s seat, and then he drove away.

I still couldn’t understand why he tried to enter our home, but I also didn’t know whether or not he tried the other houses on our cul de sac before he confronted ours. I wondered if this was a test and that if I somehow ended up opening that door, would I still be here right now? Would he return back here again, but this time enter our home without permission? Was this glass door really enough to separate us from the evil of this world? Perhaps I was being dramatic, but I couldn’t help but think what would happen if things took a turn for the worse.

The sun was still blinding, the heat still suffocating, and summer still went on without a care in the world. I turned my back to the door, and made my great journey back to my couch. Across the icy floors, down the boundless hallway, and finally I reached the carpeted ground, which signaled my arrival at the living room. Slowly my adrenaline slipped away, and laziness creeped back in as I settled on my couch with my legs curled up, and with a posture that would put a sloth to shame.

With the remote in hand, I pressed play, and my Netflix binge was back in business. But the thoughts still lingered.

All the what ifs and alternative outcomes were put on replay in my mind, until they became a dull, numbing buzz, which would sometimes re-awaken whenever the doorbell rang or an unfamiliar car would appear near the driveway. The fear would add to my subtle paranoia of someone peeking through the glass windows or doors, the fear that someone could break in one day if they really wanted to, and the fear that it possibly could’ve been my fault. I would also have dreams of these different scenarios, but they’re probably better off not being heard by anyone. But, one thing for sure is that I’ll never forget what happened that scorching summer day, or the dread I felt when I thought of how my fate would’ve changed just by opening a door.

This event only confirmed my extreme dislike for the genius that decided to put a glass door for this house in the first place.