Stories from next door
The lady in No. 8, oh yeah. She was the one with the funny accent. With the cats. Yeah yeah, the cats. If you had a cat question, a cat problem, a cat that needed looking after when you were gone — or if there was a stray running around? A litter of them in the car park? Or one maybe hiding under your car? What to do, oh yeah, the lady in No. 8. Just knock. …
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From the lady in No. 3:
“You know, I would catsit for her. When she would go out of town. And she would have these specific instructions. Like, so specific. All written out and everything. ‘Fillow needs more attention than the others, he’s really sensitive. So please spend some time with him, pet him, make sure he’s OK.’ … Oh, and there was a certain time I was supposed to play music for them, put on the radio. She had it set to a certain channel, it was set to a specific program she said they liked. I think it was classical? Yeah, classical. So I was supposed to come turn the radio on at that certain time, then come turn it off at a certain time. The one upstairs, she would need the music too. And I did it. I mean I did everything exactly, following those instructions. Those cats, they were just everything to her. Like with me and my birds. And she would always ask about my birds!”
Wooden figurines of birds, and a sparkly, decorative tree the lady in No. 3 once complimented her on, had been set aside to hand over, once the time came. “Yeah, she was all about the sparkly things in her home. And I did say something about that tree one day. Oh, and she loved this palm tree here! This one here in the courtyard, gosh she just loved it. You know, she appreciated everything so much. … And the fact that she set these things aside for me… It really means a lot.”
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From the Mom in No. 5.
“Oh she loved our place at Christmas! She got so excited. She said, ‘Oh I wish I could make my place like this!’ She was so nice. Also, sometimes she would knock on my door, say ‘Hey, just so you know, there is something wrong with the washing machines. Be careful.’ And I would go with her to the laundry room and we would look at the machine and I would see it just needed one more quarter.’ But she was so nice. She had such a good heart.”
And from the Son in No. 5.
“Your Mom, man. I would alway see her coming out, and she was always trying to get her cats back inside, saying, ‘I can’t get them back in!’ And she would just laugh. Man, she was so sweet. Always smiling. And always looking out.”
This mother and son, in No. 5, experienced tragedy a few years ago, they know about grief. Because of this, and because of how much their decor impressed her every Christmas, all Christmas decorations had been set aside for this mother and son in No. 5. A mother and son of beauty, of kindness and grace — and of incredible advice and understanding, on the topic of grief: “You’ll go through it for awhile. And you won’t want to talk about it to anyone sometimes. And that’s OK too. Everything is OK. Just do what you gotta do.”
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From the man in No. 11.
“Ah, man. You kidding me? Aw she was so sweet. No. I’ve been here 16, 17 years and she was here before I was! I got a cat because of her. She taught me how to take care of it. Ah man.” This man from No. 11 held a slight smile the whole time he had this conversation — not out of disrespect, no no. But because when he thought of her, how she always was, that lady in No. 8, he just smiled. Couldn’t help it. That was it. A little honest smile.
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And from the young man who used to live in No. 6 — this he actually said to her, when he came over to visit, about six weeks ago:
“I just wanted to say goodbye. And I wanted to say thank you. I have you to thank, so much. You know, you’re a big reason why I’m doing so well now.”
The lady in No. 8, this was her lone outside visitor (besides nurses) in the final weeks. She simply didn’t feel up to visitors, really. But one day, this young man just showed up, opening the patio and knocking at the screen door, like back then. “Just tell her G- is here, she’ll know.” And she did know. She came downstairs that day and sat with him, hugged him, heard him tell her how much she’d helped him, when he was living next door but also hanging with that wrong crowd, doing those things he shouldn’t have been doing, getting into trouble. “And you still talked to me. When I was just sitting out there, and had nobody, you came to me, sat with me, listened to me, gave me advice. I’ll never forget that. In moments like that, you find out who your real friends are.”
The lady in No. 8, hearing all this, said ‘Really? No. You did it.’ But when the young man just kept telling her how much she’d meant in that process of recovering himself, she laughed shyly, and at one point her eyes filled with tears. Her son, listening to all this, smiled and became teary-eyed also. The lady in No. 8, and the boy from No. 6, they reached out and held each other by the hand. Then they hugged. The lady in No. 8 talked of how good this young man was looking. His hair and everything. How proud she was. She said she was just so happy, so glad.
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And from the lady in No. 8. Well she left this behind, too, in a shelf. Undated. Probably from years ago, and probably about those who used to live in No. 10.
My neighbor saw me only once
Yet he knows me
He can hear - sounds
Which / shows / I am watching / when
He knows the blueprint
And I know that 24 hours a day
He wants to play his Rap
He wants to play that base
And he can’t, because he is afraid now
Of being evicted
His soul rattles
I can hear … and then — it stops
He’s got so much discipline
Comparing to how it was in the beginning
When I couldn’t sleep
Bang, bang — he hears
I love to watch action movies
Touching my cat with my foot
Me and my neighbor we don’t do much
He baby-sits, the wife is out there
All the time, working
There are tornadoes and
Oil spills — greatest in history
Trying to publish the poems
Doesn’t make sense, actually
The reality relieves me from anxiety
I float and float on my couch
With my cat, writing a check
From time to time
Volcanoes rumble and this Rap
This Bum and Bang-Bang
And baby’s cry, the angry voice
“Just shut up!” Somebody’s heart
Somebody’s passion, to breathe
To breathe freely is hard
I say forgive me, forgive me…
