late night encounter

It’s late.  After midnight.  My unfriendly neighbors above me are playing their TV at an indecent volume again.  They are two sisters, of advanced age, and not pleasant at all.  I am tired and just want to ask the sisters to turn their TV down.  Then I want to crawl right back into bed.  I am dressed accordingly: a coat over my short nightgown and Ugg boots.

I never make it upstairs.

I am in my hallway and see my hoarder-neighbor’s stuff in the hall again.  She has her purse open on the hallway floor with money dripping out.  Her key is in the door.  And a shopping cart filled with plastic bags is parked in the middle of the hall, in front of her door.

I’ll call her Sue.  She has lived in this building as long as I have.  I don't know anyone who has ever been in her apartment, except for the handyman, once.  And that was only because her apartment was flooded.  She is friendly and smart but very strange.  She’s probably in her 60’s but likely looks older than she actually is.  Her clothes have not been updated for decades.   She often wears a kerchief tied under her chin.  Her hair is a grey mess. I doubt she owns even a tube of lipstick, has no computer, and probably doesn’t know what a smartphone is.  But she speaks beautiful English and appears to be well-educated.  I have no idea how her life got to be where it is, and I have no interest in knowing.

Although it’s a safe-doorman building, no one should go to bed with their purse lying open in front of their door, with keys in the lock. Sue’s door is partially open and I knock. 

She greets me with tears. “Why is life so hard?”  Oh dear G-d, please give me strength.”  Her sister who lives in Queens is sick.  So is her boyfriend (yes, she has a long-term boyfriend who actually looks and seems normal; more than I can say).  I am tired and just want to go to bed.  But I can’t leave.  I feel helpless and sad.  Sue has two people who depend on her, and she questions her ability to care for both of them. Honestly, she looks like she can barely take care of herself.

I don’t want to be in this conversation.  I don’t want to know the details of Sue’s life.  I don’t want to be her confidante.  But here she is hugging me, and crying. We stand outside her door and I listen.  I think that’s all she wants.

This morning I knock on her door to see how she is.  She doesn’t open it, but talks to me instead through the closed door.  She says she is going to write me a note (she is big on notes; I’ve gotten them before).  I tell her not to bother, that I just want to be sure she is okay.  She thanks me, adding, “G-d bless you, Lyn.”

I come back to my apartment grateful that my biggest challenge for the day is more studying.