When a Roommate Goes “Crazy On You”

I really knew how to pick ‘em

When I was around twenty-one, another lifetime ago, I connected with a woman at work. I wish to hell I could remember what that job was because I sailed through a few in my early years, but alas, I cannot. That is immaterial, anyway.

The woman in question was a few years older than me and very smart, with a great sense of humor. We clicked immediately and spent a great deal of time together, most notably, at a watering hole in the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago. In fact, she introduced me to the bar where I ultimately met the guy who was to become my husband.

As I recall, between Wendy and me, there was a lot of laughing and joking, as well as a great deal of drinking, until things went pear-shaped.

There are so many things I’ve forgotten through the years but I remember exactly what she, Wendy, looked like: Rather stocky of build with an open, friendly, Irish face marked by piercing blue eyes that shone through the eyeglasses she always wore. How is it that I can remember her demeanor, her bearing, even the sound of her voice, to this day?

Isn’t it strange, the things that stick with us?

At the time, I had moved back in with my parents as I was “between apartments.” I was itching to get back into the city, proper and Wendy offered me a place on her couch, which I gladly accepted.

So I spent a lot of time with this woman, living, working, drinking, laughing…until I realized that too much of a good thing is exactly that. And, much like with a love affair that progresses too quickly, my old buddy hindsight tells me that I should have been warier. Smarter.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment our relationship started to shift, but I felt it, viscerally, like a too-tight dress. Wendy had an intense personality, which initially I appreciated as I can be rather intense, myself. But that intensity turned into an obsession. An obsession with me.

This shift started to dawn on me when Wendy became jealous of my spending time with other friends. She wanted me all to herself. Now, I’m not an idiot and don’t consider myself to be naive, but as I look back on this relationship, I have to believe that Wendy was gay and I was unaware…for a while. Not that it mattered in the slightest because I would probably have moved in with her anyway as I genuinely liked her, but if I’d known, it would have given me pause for thought. Especially when she became overbearing where I was concerned. Creepily so.

Things came to a head one night at the bar where we hung out when a guy started flirting with me and I made the mistake of responding in kind.

I could feel Wendy’s slow burn as she perched, tightly wound, on the barstool next to me. But at that point, I didn’t give a damn. I’d had enough. I was only twenty-one and had every right to live my life the way I wanted to live it. If only I’d known what was on the horizon.

The guy walked away to play pool or go to the john or something and Wendy turned on her stool to look at me. Her face was bright red and she was breathing so hard you could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. There’s nothing like a pissed-off drunk.

I looked at her and was about to ask her what the problem was when she grabbed my face, hard, mind you, one hand on either side, and pulled me so close our noses were practically touching. She sputtered something about the fact that I was there with HER and should be giving my attention to HER and on an on in that vein.

Shocked and dumbfounded, I was near tears, not to mention embarrassed as all hell. I can only hope that most of the people around us were too lit to notice.

I don’t remember what I said but I squirmed out of her grasp and pushed her away. At that moment, I knew I’d have to find another place to live.

The next morning, crying, she apologized, but I wasn’t having any of it. Very quickly, I found another apartment. I probably looked at two, tops before I settled on a place that I fondly remember as the “roach motel.”

Moving wasn’t terribly hard as I didn’t have a lot of stuff and quickly, I was ensconced in my new digs. The place was rather spacious for one person but I was okay with that. I figured at some point, I’d get myself a new roommate and things would return to normal. Or what passed for it, in my case.

Either I or my parents bought me a new vacuum cleaner. A high-powered machine that I was very proud of. I was in love with house-cleaning back then as it always gave me a sense of calm, and the feeling that all was right with my world. It still does but I’m not quite as into it as I was.

One night, I went out to meet some friends and when I came home, many hours later, I let myself into my apartment and a chill came over me as I immediately sensed that someone had been there. My clothes were strewn around, as were other items, and the glass on the door leading to the alley was broken.

Son of a bitch, I’d been robbed! And my new vacuum cleaner was one of the items that was stolen. Immediately, I knew who had done it. Wendy. This was her way of paying me back for “leaving” her. As it turned out, she was crazier than I thought. Dangerously so.

I called the cops and they came out and did their thing but weren’t very encouraging as to their ability to track down the “suspect.”

Once again, I moved, and thankfully, never heard from Wendy, again. Nor did I see her. It was as if she vanished off the face of the Earth. And I was more than okay with that.

Through the years, I’ve attracted more than my share of nutjobs, but Wendy stands at the top of the heap. I wonder now, how far someone like that would go, “for love.” Maybe all the way to jail.

So what are we to learn from this, boys and girls? If you’re going to flop on someone’s couch, you’d better know who owns it. Like, really know.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thanks for reading, guys. If you enjoyed this, I’d love for you to check out the following, as well as my newsletter, Sherry Raw.