I Remember It Well
On the street where I live there was John. John was compulsive. Everything that he did had to be in a certain way. Don’t ask him to define that way or admit he had a certain way of doing things. He would deny it. But just by watching everything he did, you could predict his next move or thought, which is why he never should have taken that trip to Las Vegas. At least, that’s the prevailing thought.
You’ve heard the saying, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” The inference in that saying is that the rules of everyday life don’t apply to you. You can go crazy, indulge, and do whatever you want because when you leave to return to your routine life, none of that will have happened.
I’m not sure who suggested going to Vegas, but John jumped on the idea. This was his way of proving to everyone that he was not set in his ways. He said, “With a little bit of luck, I’ll show you how I am not the person you think I am.”
If we were a betting community, we would all have put money down on John becoming obsessed with Vegas, and it would become a yearly compulsion to do whatever he did there.
I would like to say that we were correct in our assumption, and it is possible that we were correct, except for one minor glitch in John’s actions.
Remember, I said that he was compulsive. We thought he would latch on to some routine that met his standard of obsession while in Vegas and add it to his list of things he had to do when he returned. That assumption relied on one action—that he would come back.
John left on the first of May. He packed up two large suitcases, hailed a cab, and told us not to worry about his house because he had someone caring for it during the week he was gone. “If ever I should leave you for a longer period, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” was his last remark.
We should have been suspicious. If he was going away for only a week, why would he even mention leaving us for longer, and why did he pack two large suitcases?
The people who had been watching John’s house for that week were very reclusive. We rarely saw them at all. As the week came to an end, John had not communicated about his return or how he was doing in Vegas. Our suspicions were heightened when the moving trucks came and pretty much gutted John’s house.
It’s been over five years now. The house still stands, though no one has moved in. Curious as we were, none of us could find any information about John or his whereabouts. Internet searches and police inquiries led nowhere. It’s as if John didn’t exist anymore, which, of course, some of us believed was the case. On a side note, we’ve seen a white van with D.C. license plates drive by every month or so.
Had he come into contact with some nefarious gangsters and rubbed them the wrong way? Did he change his name and start a new life as someone else who was not hassled by neighbors about his compulsions? Was John not his real name to begin with, and was he part of a witness protection plan for some high-stakes criminal case? Did he even go to Vegas?
Any thoughts? We are open to all your ideas and theories. Has this happened to any of you on the street where you live? I’m not claiming this is a compulsion of mine, but I really have to know.
