There was this drug addicted older woman who lived in my
building on 15th street.
She must have been in her 50s. Possibly older, or
possibly a little younger. Her face was always quite puffy so it was hard
to tell, or even ballpark an exact age. (Drug addicts faces get puffy?) Unsure
of the origin of the puffiness, though I am guessing frequent drug use was the
cause.
Actually, she didn't live in my building. She didn't
belong in my building. She dated this man in our building. He was
older too. And had this big really cute dog. I should say, the dog had
the potential to be cute, but always looked dirty. Poor dog was likely
neglected.
I had several encounters with this woman. I never came
to know her name. I did however, come to know that she was a
little...off. Unstable. The number of times I was in the elevator
with her, she was always babbling about nothing (well sometimes it was about
the state of the dog... "that dog, I want to take it out for a walk, he
won't let me ...babble babble.") And other such mutterings.
Always dressed in a tattered ripped shirt. Sometimes showcasing a smudge
of blue eye makeup on her eyes. Blond hair messy. Eyes glazed over
and - squinty. Often she would be carrying that dog in her laundry
basket, or on a leash. I would nod and smile nervously, walking quickly
out of the elevator when my floor came up.
She lived on floor 6. No - he lived on floor
6. She would frequent his apartment often. I later found out they
were in a relationship; boyfriend and girlfriend.
Given my tendency towards apprehension, I became scared of
this woman. She was clearly an unwieldy and unpredictable drug
addict/possible homeless woman. Known to walk down our block muttering
her mutterings. Loudly.
One night I saw her in our vestibule and I gasped before
opening the front door. She was lying in the vestibule, spread out,
holding crutches. She yelled to me, lemme in, lemme in. (She didn't
have a key to the door, and I don't live in a doorman building.) Lemme
in, Lemme in, she shouted. Oh no. This was a dilemma. I was
scared of this woman. I couldn't let her in. So I didn't. I
kind of walked around her and let myself in. I left her lying
there. Pretty inhumane. I immediately knocked on my Supers door,
and when he came out, I pointed to the pile of crutches and homeless woman in
the vestibule.
"I'll take care of it." he said. This was
clearly something that happened fairly regularly, given his lack of surprise to
see the sight in the vestibule. He rolled his eyes and went back into his
apartment.
I'm left to assume an ambulance was called and the police
were notified.
"She was probably brought to Bellevue" said a
fellow resident I was talking to in the elevator a few days later, recounting
my experience to him.
"Sad." I said.
"Sad." He agreed.
Days and weeks went by. It was night again, and I was
walking home from the subway station. I get to my block. I see
her. She's acting slightly 'off'.' Limping, talking to
herself. I think she sees me, she is a few steps ahead of me, and she
turns around. Oh no, she saw me. She remembers the time I didn't
let her into the building. She may harm me. Possibly attack
me. (Again, I am prone to sometimes irrational apprehension.)
However the thought wasn't too far off. A drug addict has the capability
for violence.
I run to outpace her and make it into the building before
she can yell at me, or do worse, to let her in. I make it inside my
building, and in the elevator, before she does. I am out of breath and my
heart is beating so fast. I call my Mom after dead-bolting the door to my
apartment.
"Why is someone like that living in your building?"
"She doesn't live here - I don't know."
"Be Safe."
"Yep."
A few more weeks go by, and a few more incidents
occur. I see ambulances outside one day. I ask what happened to a
fellow resident I recognize standing nearby.
"It's the woman..."
"Oh." We both shake our heads in
understanding.
One time my boyfriend calls the ambulance because she is
lying in the vestibule again when we want to go outside. The ambulance
comes, the police come.
A month or two passes and I am struck by a note in the elevator:
"Hello All-
I wanted to let you know that my girlfriend just passed
away. She passed away on Saturday morning. She will be missed.
Frank, 6D"
I knew immediately who Frank was referring to. I was struck
with sadness. I felt sad for Frank. I felt sad for the drug
addicted woman. The note was empty, no one had written any messages of
sympathy thus far. I took out a pen from my bag and wrote : "Frank I
am so sorry for your loss. My deepest and sincerest
condolences." I did not sign my name.
I came home that night and the note was covered with
messages. I was glad I wrote the first message. I was glad people
followed. It felt human.
Yesterday I saw the dog. He
looked sad and dirty as usual. There was someone new walking him. I
looked at the man attached to the dog, and he spoke to me with wide, glazed
over eyes, and nervous glances. His face was puffy.
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