Return to the essay table of contents
37. NEXT DOOR (Dec. 2003)
Tall young guy in apartment next to me. Been there several years. I'll say hello
in the hall. Musician. I've never been in his apartment, nor he in mine, had
nothing to do with him other than say hello all through the years, and that's
exactly how I wanted it. We're not neighbors. We're New York neighbors.
Okay. I bumped into him
at the entrance to our building. He was robbed the night before. Someone broke
in. Now wonders if he needs a gate on fire escape window. I tell him to get two.
When they came into my apartment I had a gate on the fire escape window. They
put a plank down to the next window. Over a 5-story drop.
Two nights later. Bell
rings. It's him.
Wants to borrow my Yellow
Pages.
I open the door to him
for the first time ever.
He says he'll give it
back in a few minutes.
Hour after hour passes.
This is a test.
And he is failing it.
I am wound very
tight...and tightening.
When I finally, for the
very first time, go next door-- his bell does not work. Through the door-- he
doesn't seem to understand what I need.
I get it back. He's in
his underwear. Eyes unfocused. He is slightly and unfocusedly apologetic.
I never want to see him
again.
The burglar, that beast
who broke into his apartment, maybe mine, is still out there, seeking prey.
Return to the essay table of contents