Late-Night Lockout

After trying to get home for two hours after the San Juan festivities on Friday night (the city of Alicante owns about 5 taxis), I approach the door of my apartment in exhausted relief. As I turn the lock, I hear the dog, Luna, go crazy as she always does when anyone enters the house. Terrified that my late night return is going to wake the family, I quickly shut and latch the door behind me, and run to quiet Luna. I hear heavy rhythmic breathing in the living room, where my host brothers have been sleeping on the couch lately, and figure that they haven’t been disturbed by a couple yelps. Yay, I think, and mentally pat myself on the back for good, quick damage control.

What happens afterwards proves that all is back in balance in my world, and that I DO NOT deserve any back-patting.

After stumbling through the darkness to my room and collapsing onto my bed (at last!), I hear the dog bark again...and again...continuously for about ten minutes. The phone rings incessantly (and the doorbell, too, I later learn). It is as if the house has come to life with the world’s most annoying sounds. I lay in bed, fists clenched, cursing my luck.

Zoya’s thought process at 4am:
-Why is the stupid dog barking?
Nightmare.
-Isn’t the family bothered?
Maybe they let her bark them off. Sort of like facing her fears, you know.
-Who calls anyone at 4 in the morning?
Nocturnal Spaniards.
-Is it possible that nobody but me is home?
Shut up and quit asking logical questions...neeeeeeed sleeeeeeeeep.

I don’t remember how long I lay there before passing out, but the following morning, Kelly (my roommate who apparently wasn’t sleeping in the bed next to mine) wakes me up and mentions that she spent the night with the family IN THEIR CAR because I had latched them out of their house. They had gone to the esplanade to enjoy the festivities where she had run into them.

They tried calling (I never answer the phone for fear that a native Spanish speaker is on the other line), and buzzing (I thought it was the phone) and ended up at the house of Luis’s mother, my host-granny, but ran out of there because she had a gentleman caller. So they slept in their tiny European car, where Luis Sr. and Jr. snored the night away.
"The windows were all steamed up by morning; I could barely breathe," Kelly said.
At around 8am, Luis borrowed a ladder from the landlord and the family broke into their own second-floor home from the living room window.

Looking back, there were so many signals, so many opportunities to fight my innate stupidity. But this is what I do, and the events of last night are a strange comfort that all is again right with the world. I messed up big time--give me a few more weeks and I’ll shock and awe again.

Everyone took a long siesta yesterday afternoon--even Corin, my mama, who is wonder woman and I swear, never sleeps. Last night, I was out watching the bonfires with Kelly and her boyfriend Anthony, when he turned to her and asked:

Has your family Zoya-proofed the door for tonight?