I woke up to a woman screaming. She can only be dying. That was my thought. I rushed out onto my porch and dialed Chinese 911. Now she was screaming in French. Then she was screaming in English. The operator answered.
“Come to the university immediately, someone is badly hurt!”
“What?”
I hate the Chinese language.
As I start to try to explain, another voice yells down to me that she’s not hurt. At least doesn’t have blood shooting out her veins. Her boyfriend in France just broke up with her.
“Please,” the 911 operator continues, “What?”
I feel stupid. Embarrassed by my overzealousness. The girl continues screaming. I hang up the phone and decide to just hope the police don’t come to my house. How I explain that no, her arm is not severed, just her heart?

And now I sit here in my house, kept awake for the third time in four days by the apartment above me, cursing my luck.