Upstairs
The apartment above me has been quiet for a week. The ambulance took James away one week ago. A couple of days ago a soiled mattress and a dresser appeared in the dumpster behind the building. Today the mattress was gone but on the ground around the dumpster were several pill bottles with James' name typed on the label. The bottles were all full or half full. A miracle cure? Or simply death.
A couple of months ago James collapsed in his apartment. I could hear the firemen at his door talking to him. Can you get to the door? Can you stand? He's right behind the door. James can you hear me? For the longest time James could not unlock the door and the fireman would not break in. Finally someone with a key came and they took James away in an ambulance.
Sadly the person with the key never came back. James' dog barked for four days. I left notes on his door with my phone number hoping that the person with the key would contact me and I could help with the dog. Eventually I called the humane society and they said they would look into it. But before that could happen my phone rang and James, in a shaky, shaky voice told me that he was back and everything was okay and thanks for worrying about his dog.
I never saw the dog again and I only saw James a couple of more times.
I remember when James first moved in. A man would visit him in his apartment and more often then not a horrible fight would break out. Screaming...crying...crashing.
Eventually the man stopped coming and the fights would be one sided over the phone.
Earlier this year even the phone fights stopped and days would go by when I wouldn't hear a sound from the apartment upstairs. And then the faintest footsteps and I would know that James was still up there, so wasted by the disease that to make even the smallest sound was just too exhausting.
The last time I saw James was a couple of weeks ago. I was reading in my apartment when I heard the sound of breaking glass. I looked out my front window and I saw James on the front porch staring down at a broken bottle of Yahoo. I watched him for a bit. Eventually he turned into the building leaving the broken glass and the drying liquid behind.
The ambulance came again last week and took James away again. The dog is gone. The footsteps are gone. The mattress is gone. I gathered the half-filled pill bottles and threw them in the dumpster.
Tonight as I came home from work I stepped over the fading Yahoo stain that looks so much like a bloodstain at a crime scene. Soon that will disappear too.
James was probably forty years old. He lived in the building for five years. The longest conversation I ever had with him was when he called to thank me for caring about the dog he could no longer take care of.
I know I will never see James again. That's okay. He was a stranger to me. But I hope there is someone somewhere that will remember him.
A couple of months ago James collapsed in his apartment. I could hear the firemen at his door talking to him. Can you get to the door? Can you stand? He's right behind the door. James can you hear me? For the longest time James could not unlock the door and the fireman would not break in. Finally someone with a key came and they took James away in an ambulance.
Sadly the person with the key never came back. James' dog barked for four days. I left notes on his door with my phone number hoping that the person with the key would contact me and I could help with the dog. Eventually I called the humane society and they said they would look into it. But before that could happen my phone rang and James, in a shaky, shaky voice told me that he was back and everything was okay and thanks for worrying about his dog.
I never saw the dog again and I only saw James a couple of more times.
I remember when James first moved in. A man would visit him in his apartment and more often then not a horrible fight would break out. Screaming...crying...crashing.
Eventually the man stopped coming and the fights would be one sided over the phone.
Earlier this year even the phone fights stopped and days would go by when I wouldn't hear a sound from the apartment upstairs. And then the faintest footsteps and I would know that James was still up there, so wasted by the disease that to make even the smallest sound was just too exhausting.
The last time I saw James was a couple of weeks ago. I was reading in my apartment when I heard the sound of breaking glass. I looked out my front window and I saw James on the front porch staring down at a broken bottle of Yahoo. I watched him for a bit. Eventually he turned into the building leaving the broken glass and the drying liquid behind.
The ambulance came again last week and took James away again. The dog is gone. The footsteps are gone. The mattress is gone. I gathered the half-filled pill bottles and threw them in the dumpster.
Tonight as I came home from work I stepped over the fading Yahoo stain that looks so much like a bloodstain at a crime scene. Soon that will disappear too.
James was probably forty years old. He lived in the building for five years. The longest conversation I ever had with him was when he called to thank me for caring about the dog he could no longer take care of.
I know I will never see James again. That's okay. He was a stranger to me. But I hope there is someone somewhere that will remember him.
posted by Exaggoman at 3:25 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home