May 2004 Issue - Essay # 2
Why
Me?
By
Jozette Aaron
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Sometimes it pays to ignore the voices coming through your door, especially if you live in an apartment building with neighbors on either side of you. When I saw what was moving in as I was leaving for work one morning, my first thought was "That’s it--I’m doomed!" At first, all I could see was
the form of a woman, bent over a box as she dragged it towards her new
dwelling place. I continued
down the hall and when I rounded the corner of the hallway going towards
the bank of elevators, I happened to look back and made eye contact with
"the Exorcist" or so my mind yelled.
She had angry dark eyes, thick, penciled-on brows, and bright red
circles painted on high cheek bones. That
sight gave me a chill that accompanied me into the elevator and I wore it
like a shroud for the rest of that day. Arriving home that evening, I
made a quick salad for my dinner and was just sitting down to eat when
there was a knock on the door. I
opened it to look into that garish face, the mouth moving as words of
introduction spilled out. “I am your new neighbor…”
she started explaining, and it took her the better part of a half hour
before she had finished and I was able to go back to my salad.
I was, by that time, in possession of her entire life story and a
salad that lay limp on the plate. Dumping
it into the garbage, I opted for a sandwich instead. The next morning, she was
waiting for me by the elevators and when she saw me approaching, began
spewing questions at me. “I know you’re a
nurse…could you…?” she enquired. No “good morning,” no nothing.
She launched right into her list of requests.
A polite “sorry” was what she got as I got into the elevator
and watched the doors close me and her out. Coming home that
evening, there she was. I couldn’t believe she was still there.
Did this woman rent the hallway?
She was holding a bloodied thumb out to me and screaming that she
was hemorrhaging. I asked her
if she had a bandage. Why did
I even open my mouth? Before I
knew it, she had grabbed my arm and pulling me down the hall towards her
apartment. At that point, I
thought it easier to just follow her inside rather than come up with a
list of reasons why not. She
showed me an arsenal of first aid equipment: bandages in every size and
description, solutions, ointments, you name it--she had it!
I quickly cleaned her thumb, applied a bandage and sent her off to
the hospital for a Tetanus shot. A few more episodes popped up
where she needed a helping hand. Now, don’t’ get me wrong, I am not
against helping anyone but she has decided that it was my lot in life to
serve her needs above all else...not!
I was finding myself looking around the corner when I got off of
the elevators to be sure the coast was clear before making a mad dash to
my apartment and very quietly opening and closing my door.
I actually had to resort to asking her, very politely, to LEAVE ME
ALONE! After that, there was
peace on earth once again…until the fire! The alarm woke all of the
tenants out of a deep sleep. In
my training, I knew that once there was no heat on the other side of the
door that it would be safe to block the door with towels to keep the smoke
out and stay inside until the firefighters arrived.
Trick-a-treat (the name I gave my neighbor because of her
clown-like makeup) was standing in the hallway, screaming and pounding on
my door. When she ignored my yelled instructions to go back inside her
apartment, I had no recourse but to open the door and yank her into mine
which allowed the black, acrid smoke swirling through the hallway to enter
my lungs. Trick-a-treat was hysterical
and wanting to leave the building. She
kept yelling that she didn’t want to die.
I tried a number of ways to calm her down and failing in these
decided that I could do nothing more but to get her outside.
Down the emergency steps we went: me in my tattered tee shirt and
plaid boxers--are you getting this visual?
Laugh you may but when you sleep alone, comfort is what I’m after In the lobby, the finest
firefighters in the city were escorting the evacuated tenants out of the
main entrance. I asked one of
them if it would have been safe to stay inside.
I know what he must have been thinking when he looked at my attire
but he hid his laughter well when he said that it would have been better
if we did. I looked over at my
nemesis who was clinging to my arm and, summoning all of my willpower,
disentangled myself and walked away, putting a finger to my lips to shush
her when she made to complain. It was another three hours of
standing in my “undies” out in front of my building on a busy work day
before I was allowed to return to my apartment.
I showered, washed my hair and as I was going out the door, my
neighbor opened hers and was appalled that I didn’t take the day off to
clean my apartment of the smoke. I
told her that I would deal with that when I get home and, waving goodbye,
went to work ”Let me clean your
house…what can I do for you…you must let me do something for you,”
she went on and on as the doors closed before she could step inside.
I leaned my head against the elevator wall, closed my eyes and sighed…
arghhh…why me?
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Jozette Aaron is a published
author (also writing as Georgie DeSilva) and freelance writer.
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