“Yes, no … I know. I realize that. I was there today at the three o’clock?” He seemed to be talking to the right person. “Exactly, yes. I had the dark green coat on. Older gentleman.” I exhaled a sigh of relief. Now we could get down to business. “At any rate. All I wanted to say is that I think you’re very attractive and well, that’s it. I don’t expect anything to come of it. I just have to get that off my chest. That’s the kind of person I am. I say what I feel and I get on with it.”
“What the hell is he doing?” I thought. “Of course she’s attractive. She’s probably nineteen and they stuck her in the window because it’s good for business. Dude, the war ended half a century ago. You must be at least eighty.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he said. “That was not what I wanted to do.”
He seemed frantic, but how did he expect it to go? Was she going to say, “Ooh, Gramps! Eighty-year-old veterans make me wet. Come by my place and put your weird, old face all over my body”?
“Look,” he said, trying to stem the tension. “I just wanted to say, you’re a very attractive young man. You have a very beautiful face and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable … No. Yes. And for that I’m sorry. Good day and again, I apologize.”
My face now resembled an owl that just snorted an eight ball of cocaine.
Did I just hear “young man ”? They had homosexuality back then? There were homos in World War II? I thought the Village People invented fags and then they all died in the eighties.
I sat up and hit my head on the ceiling. I needed a drink. I slid off the bed, landed on the floor, and walked over to the fridge. “What is it with gays?” I thought. “Don’t they have mirrors? He’s a little kid and you’re at death’s door. Ever heard of ‘one’s league’?”
I didn’t hear from my neighbor for about a week after that. I think he was sick because I’d hear coughing from the bed and when the phone rang he wouldn’t answer it. There were endless trips to the bathroom with lots of hopeless cursing. He was obviously alone in the world. Who was going to check in on him if he died? Did this fall under my jurisdiction?
Then I heard some creaking of the floorboards and a very angry “GODDAMNIT!” It sounded like he had spilled something and I could hear him waddling over to the sink to prepare a washcloth. Then I heard creaking so near the wall it sounded like that was what he was washing. Who spills stuff on the walls after the age of one? For the next three days I heard a lot more swearing and a lot more scrubbing. Why was he skating around the room on Brillo pads and cursing like a sailor? Had senility eaten his brain alive?
Then came the worst phone call since Hitler said, “Sure, go ahead, invade Poland. You think I give a shit?”
“English! Hello? Is this Emergency?” He seemed calm but had obviouslydialed 911 because you have to choose your language first in Quebec when you call those guys. I silently crawled up to my bed and put my ear to the ceiling. “Yes, well, I’m not sure who to call but I’m at the end of my rope,” he said. “I give up. I’m throwing in the towel.” There was a pause. He gave them his name and address. Another pause. “I simply cannot hold it any longer. I don’t know what you do. You come over here and put a cork in it? You put me in a hospital? I don’t know. I can’t deal with it anymore. It’s out of my control.”
I thought he’d never beat the ticket-booth call. I was wrong. It kept going. “Up until last week I could hold it in. It wasn’t easy but I could do it. Then these past three days it’s just been getting worse and worse. It’s all over the walls and the floor. I cannot hold it in no matter what I do. The bathroom is just, well … it’s a mess.” Despite the fact that my bed was six feet off the ground, my jaw hit the floor with a plonk. “My EXCREMENT!” he yelled angrily
“What the hell is he doing?” I thought. “Of course she’s attractive. She’s probably nineteen and they stuck her in the window because it’s good for business. Dude, the war ended half a century ago. You must be at least eighty.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he said. “That was not what I wanted to do.”
He seemed frantic, but how did he expect it to go? Was she going to say, “Ooh, Gramps! Eighty-year-old veterans make me wet. Come by my place and put your weird, old face all over my body”?
“Look,” he said, trying to stem the tension. “I just wanted to say, you’re a very attractive young man. You have a very beautiful face and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable … No. Yes. And for that I’m sorry. Good day and again, I apologize.”
My face now resembled an owl that just snorted an eight ball of cocaine.
Did I just hear “young man ”? They had homosexuality back then? There were homos in World War II? I thought the Village People invented fags and then they all died in the eighties.
I sat up and hit my head on the ceiling. I needed a drink. I slid off the bed, landed on the floor, and walked over to the fridge. “What is it with gays?” I thought. “Don’t they have mirrors? He’s a little kid and you’re at death’s door. Ever heard of ‘one’s league’?”
I didn’t hear from my neighbor for about a week after that. I think he was sick because I’d hear coughing from the bed and when the phone rang he wouldn’t answer it. There were endless trips to the bathroom with lots of hopeless cursing. He was obviously alone in the world. Who was going to check in on him if he died? Did this fall under my jurisdiction?
Then I heard some creaking of the floorboards and a very angry “GODDAMNIT!” It sounded like he had spilled something and I could hear him waddling over to the sink to prepare a washcloth. Then I heard creaking so near the wall it sounded like that was what he was washing. Who spills stuff on the walls after the age of one? For the next three days I heard a lot more swearing and a lot more scrubbing. Why was he skating around the room on Brillo pads and cursing like a sailor? Had senility eaten his brain alive?
Then came the worst phone call since Hitler said, “Sure, go ahead, invade Poland. You think I give a shit?”
“English! Hello? Is this Emergency?” He seemed calm but had obviouslydialed 911 because you have to choose your language first in Quebec when you call those guys. I silently crawled up to my bed and put my ear to the ceiling. “Yes, well, I’m not sure who to call but I’m at the end of my rope,” he said. “I give up. I’m throwing in the towel.” There was a pause. He gave them his name and address. Another pause. “I simply cannot hold it any longer. I don’t know what you do. You come over here and put a cork in it? You put me in a hospital? I don’t know. I can’t deal with it anymore. It’s out of my control.”
I thought he’d never beat the ticket-booth call. I was wrong. It kept going. “Up until last week I could hold it in. It wasn’t easy but I could do it. Then these past three days it’s just been getting worse and worse. It’s all over the walls and the floor. I cannot hold it in no matter what I do. The bathroom is just, well … it’s a mess.” Despite the fact that my bed was six feet off the ground, my jaw hit the floor with a plonk. “My EXCREMENT!” he yelled angrily
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