I’d fed brown paper bags full of our family’s trash to the basement incinerator’s waiting flames.
Stepping back into the lobby, I pointed to two iron radiators along the far wall and told Ernest, “When it was cold outside us kids would sometimes come in here and sit on those for a while.”
Nodding his head, he said, “I can understand that. Nobody likes a cold ass.” We shared a chuckle before he added, “I sure had my share of those back in Oak Park.
Ernest then stepped toward the elevator. “We might as well go up to your floor now if you’re ready.”
I didn’t answer right away. I was eleven years old again. The unreliable elevator was stuck between two floors again. My pal Dino and I were going up to my place, and this time it stopped just before we got up there. We jimmied open the door, and there was the shaft’s solid brick wall before us. Raising our eyes together, we both saw a two foot opening at the top. It was the third floor. Dino and I pulled ourselves up there and started crawling out. And at that very second that we pulled our ankles out onto the worn tile floor, the elevator started going down—quickly and with the door still open. One second earlier and it would have severed us both at the ankles. Two or three seconds earlier and it would have cut our young bodies in half.
From that day forward, I always had an elevator phobia. I’d only get into one if it was absolutely necessary.
“Do you mind if we walk up, Ernest?”
Giving me a puzzled look he said, “Sure . . . we can do that.”
As we approached 3-C, a small girl with yellow pigtails and excited blue eyes came out of the door next to it. Carrying what looked like a brand new doll, she scooted by us and scampered down the stairs. Obviously old Mister Brody no longer lived there.
Turning back to the door I’d lived behind for two decades, I gave it a good once over.
A silent moment passed before Ernest asked, “Are you going to knock on it, Jack?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t want to bother whoever lives here. Don’t know if it would do any good if I did.”
Again Ernest waited. We heard music inside. It sounded Oriental—an instrumental. It was light and soothing.
“You might learn a few more things about yourself,” Ernest nudged now.
With the weight of what I’d already learned about myself leaning heavy on my mind, I said, “I’m not so sure I want to. Anyway, what’re the odds whoever lives here is going to invite me in to snoop around.”
He took a deep breath, exhaled and rubbed his temples. Looking down at a small black mat that did not say “welcome,” Ernest came back, “Even the long shots come in occasionally. Go ahead. What have you got to lose?”
When he looked back at me I nodded. “Yeah, what the hell,” I said and knocked three times, slowly.
We could hear footsteps coming now, very light ones.
Then the door opened slightly. A petite Chinese lady with ancient eyes cautiously peeked out beneath two brass safety chains.
“Yes? What is it you want?”
Feeling like a fool entering my plea through a four-inch opening, I said, “I’m very sorry to bother you, ma’am. But I . . . well, I used to live here a long time ago. I grew up in your apartment. I feel kind of foolish but was wondering if there’s any way you’d allow me to see the place one last time. Like I said, it’s been many years. I’ve left a lot of memories in there, and well . . . I’d love to bring them back.”
She then looked me up and down for a few long seconds. I felt the guilty suspect in a police lineup. Finally she peered back into my eyes, drilling into them this time. Her small brown eyes narrowed more than they had when she’d first peeked out. Then she let me have it with both barrels.
“YOU CRAZY MAN!” she yelled. “GET OUT OF HERE! YOU NO COME IN HERE! GO! GO! OR I CALL POLICE RIGHT
Stepping back into the lobby, I pointed to two iron radiators along the far wall and told Ernest, “When it was cold outside us kids would sometimes come in here and sit on those for a while.”
Nodding his head, he said, “I can understand that. Nobody likes a cold ass.” We shared a chuckle before he added, “I sure had my share of those back in Oak Park.
Ernest then stepped toward the elevator. “We might as well go up to your floor now if you’re ready.”
I didn’t answer right away. I was eleven years old again. The unreliable elevator was stuck between two floors again. My pal Dino and I were going up to my place, and this time it stopped just before we got up there. We jimmied open the door, and there was the shaft’s solid brick wall before us. Raising our eyes together, we both saw a two foot opening at the top. It was the third floor. Dino and I pulled ourselves up there and started crawling out. And at that very second that we pulled our ankles out onto the worn tile floor, the elevator started going down—quickly and with the door still open. One second earlier and it would have severed us both at the ankles. Two or three seconds earlier and it would have cut our young bodies in half.
From that day forward, I always had an elevator phobia. I’d only get into one if it was absolutely necessary.
“Do you mind if we walk up, Ernest?”
Giving me a puzzled look he said, “Sure . . . we can do that.”
As we approached 3-C, a small girl with yellow pigtails and excited blue eyes came out of the door next to it. Carrying what looked like a brand new doll, she scooted by us and scampered down the stairs. Obviously old Mister Brody no longer lived there.
Turning back to the door I’d lived behind for two decades, I gave it a good once over.
A silent moment passed before Ernest asked, “Are you going to knock on it, Jack?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t want to bother whoever lives here. Don’t know if it would do any good if I did.”
Again Ernest waited. We heard music inside. It sounded Oriental—an instrumental. It was light and soothing.
“You might learn a few more things about yourself,” Ernest nudged now.
With the weight of what I’d already learned about myself leaning heavy on my mind, I said, “I’m not so sure I want to. Anyway, what’re the odds whoever lives here is going to invite me in to snoop around.”
He took a deep breath, exhaled and rubbed his temples. Looking down at a small black mat that did not say “welcome,” Ernest came back, “Even the long shots come in occasionally. Go ahead. What have you got to lose?”
When he looked back at me I nodded. “Yeah, what the hell,” I said and knocked three times, slowly.
We could hear footsteps coming now, very light ones.
Then the door opened slightly. A petite Chinese lady with ancient eyes cautiously peeked out beneath two brass safety chains.
“Yes? What is it you want?”
Feeling like a fool entering my plea through a four-inch opening, I said, “I’m very sorry to bother you, ma’am. But I . . . well, I used to live here a long time ago. I grew up in your apartment. I feel kind of foolish but was wondering if there’s any way you’d allow me to see the place one last time. Like I said, it’s been many years. I’ve left a lot of memories in there, and well . . . I’d love to bring them back.”
She then looked me up and down for a few long seconds. I felt the guilty suspect in a police lineup. Finally she peered back into my eyes, drilling into them this time. Her small brown eyes narrowed more than they had when she’d first peeked out. Then she let me have it with both barrels.
“YOU CRAZY MAN!” she yelled. “GET OUT OF HERE! YOU NO COME IN HERE! GO! GO! OR I CALL POLICE RIGHT
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