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Friday, January 04, 2008 [continued from previous entry] My flat is four floors up in an old, old, building. An ancient building with enough space for a stairwell, an entry area the size of a postage stamp (a teeny, dog-eared, long-canceled postage stamp) and nothing more. No elevator. Stairs made of wood, long worn down by the passage of many feet. The final flight of stairs, leading to the building's uppermost flats, begins right outside my door, immediately to the right. What I found yesterday morning on emerging from my cosy hideyhole to get the day underway: a body. A live body, but still. Curled up on the bottom of the steps, just outside my door. Clad in soiled clothing and a stained winter coat, hood pulled up, face hidden. A male -- asleep, the in and out of his breath audible. Not the kind of good-morning I'd been expecting from life. Events like this are not unknown in this building. Some tenants don't care about making sure the ground floor door is closed, now and then that leads to mischief. One morning three or so years back, I emerged from my flat to find that someone had spent the night in the hallway -- possibly a drunk, possibly an indigent, possibly a drunk indigent -- leaving a tidy, fragrant pile of poop as a calling card. On exactly the spot where yesterday morning's sleeping body lay. Once again, not the kind of good-morning I'd expected on leaving the flat. I spent part of the '90's in a little bitty flat on Mass. Ave. in Cambridge, Mass. In a building right across the sidestreet intersection from an Irish bar and a liquor store. Many drunks discovered our front hallway, spending many messy hours there. Dealing with them led to all sorts of experiences, and I was overjoyed like I cannot describe when I moved on and all that became memories that could be filed away and forgotten. Yesterday morning's temporary tenant was nothing like any of that. He may have been sleeping off a night of alcoholic cavorting, I don't know -- but his vibe felt different. And he didn't smell of booze. His appearance there surprised me so much that I found myself speaking in English to him. Not harshly, not loudly. Just a fast, soft-voiced sentence about how he wouldn't be able to remain there. No response. Probably remained asleep, probably had no idea what I'd said if he'd come to while I talked. I let him be, headed downstairs and out into the street, took care of some tasks. When I returned, there he still was -- curled up, breathing slow and audible. This time I spoke softly in Spanish, in as kindly a tone as I could, again saying he wouldn't be able to stay there. His head lifted from the stairs, he slowly straightened up, looked around at me, woozy-eyed. He mumbled an apology and a story about waiting for one of my neighbors, looking and sounding like he was making it up on the spot. I saw ruddy skin, the kind of coloration that develops from hard, homeless living. I noted ground-in dirt on hands looking thick and awkward from too much time spent out in winter cold. I talked to him a bit more, he apologized again, then excused himself, curled up once more -- disappearing under winter coat, drifting back off to sleep. The gas company was due to come by soon for meter readings, other tenants would pass through, heading up or downstairs. I knew he'd have to move along eventually, until that happened I did not want to be the one to make his life miserable. He didn't feel like a threat of any kind -- I let him be. Dropped groceries in my flat, wrapped up some fruit and left it on the stairs where it would be seen upon awakening, headed off to meet a friend. When I returned a few hours later, he was gone, leaving no sign anyone had passed the night there. I think about what that individual must experience on a daily basis, then I think about the grousing tone of this journal's last entry. I have no grounds for bitching -- blessings stream into my existence on a daily basis, and sometimes life does me the favor of providing a bit of perspective, a reminder. A gentle reminder in this case, provided by a sad soul wanting nothing more than a few hours of sleep out of the elements. Not much to ask for, really. Something we should all be able to take for granted. I wish him better times. And I extend that wish to all the rest of us who share this planet. We're all brothers and sisters, though we seem to forget it so easily. Anyway. Be well. España, te quiero. rws 12:29 PM [+]
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