Stupendous Man

P.S: This is a true story.

It was a terrific swim practice today, I thought, satisfied, getting into the apartment. A quick email check before heading into the shower was on my mind when the doorbell rang.

Someone at 8.00 pm in the night? Not unless it was a friend, but then knowing them they wouldn’t let the ringing stop if I didn’t open the door in spilt seconds. No it was not any of them. It had to be her; my neighbor. She must have heard me opening the door and known I had come back. It was not the first time she had knocked on my door within seconds of me entering my apartment. Last year she needed help putting up some Christmas decoration. Then again she had bothered me with inane details about how one of her friends had died in the building – poor woman, her friend was old and died suddenly – and it was the first time I had heard of someone by her name in the building. Just two months ago she had again caught me, this time asking for a favor to collect her newspapers. Each time, it was the same: I’d enter my apartment and close the door, and within minutes she’d ring the bell. It had to be my neighbor.

I considered. In half state of undress, I was not exactly in a mood to talk to her. She was old, boring and she wouldn’t have anything important to say, I knew. So I just decided to wait it out – maybe if I didn’t make any sound for a few minutes, she might just go back thinking no one’s home. I had done it thrice before, and had successfully avoided her, so this would work. After a minute, I heard her door knob – good she had gone back – and it would be peaceful for next few months before she rang the bell again.

The problem with the woman was not that she was not a nice woman. She was boring. At least to me. The first time I had met her was when I had moved into my apartment, which was opposite hers. She lived in a one bedroom studio, limped a bit, and had a sqaurish face and not exactly attractive. The first time we had met, she had bitched about the previous tenants in the apartment I was about to live – they were a young couple, maybe married (she didn’t know), and always made a lot of sound, never bolted the door quietly but with loud bang. If I would be careful enough not to bang the door knob, she said, it would be great of me. It was not a big request she’d made, but it had bothered me that the lady had not waited even few days before telling me about the door knob. Since that day, it was clear that she would bother me only with mundane affairs and ridiculous favors like collecting newspapers or arranging flower vases. Today would have been one of those, had I not avoided her.

As I settled into my sofa after shower and turned on the TV, the doorbell rang again. Oh No!

This time I couldn’t avoid it – the TV was blaring, and it was obvious that I was home. Well, there really might be something she wants me to do, I wondered while opening the door. It is amazing how pleasant and friendly conversation could become between the two neighbors, with appropriate concern and fake happiness on meeting each other. I had mastered my art well.

“Hey, how nice to see you!” I said, looking at her holding four different serving trays of different colors. Not another ridiculous favor I thought, when she said –

“Great. Thank you. It is nice to see you as well! I was about to give these four trays away for free, so I thought I might ask you if you would like them”.

I considered – they were old, scratched and umm… boring.

“No thank you – so nice of you asking me that, but I already have a lot of such stuff…”

“That’s OK, then I will just throw them” she said, starting to turn back to her door. Good, this was ending fast.

“I also wanted to tell you that I am moving from the building. I am sorry.”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say. Why was this woman telling me if she was moving, and why was she sorry for me about it? How many times had we chatted in the last three years? Three? I didn’t really care lady.

“Oh really! That’s so sad to hear. I am sorry to hear that. Where are you moving?” I faked, hoping she wouldn’t answer my question.

“I am moving to this Tenley center few miles from here. Three of my friends live there too. I will be living in a two bedroom apartment there, I am going to be spoilt you know!”

“That’s so nice! And it’s a nice area too I heard”, I faked again, never having heard of that place till now.

“Yes it is. But you know, more than that, I think it was time for a change in my life. I’ve lived here alone in this apartment since 1984. Its 22 years since I have been in this building – I need a change finally”

22 years. Alone. I don’t know why, I just felt a lump form in my throat. I wanted to keep talking, suddenly.

“22 years? Wow – you’ve lived here a lot! You must have seen so many neighbors haven’t you?”

“Oh Yes. When I moved in, three of my friends and their family moved in with me in the same building. You know we’d hang out together always. We’d just married when we moved in. We used to do so many things together. And after a couple of years, my friend, Francesca, she moved to California after she had her first child. And Bethany moved out too 3 years later – her husband found a better job in New York, so they moved there. And I was left here”

“Didn’t you have a family?” I asked, perhaps treading her personal space I wondered.

“I did. But my husband divorced me after 2 years of marriage, right after we had moved in here; I decided never to marry again after that. It was bad”

“Oh I am sorry to hear that”, truly feeling sad for this time, wondering how long had she lived alone.

“I’ve lived alone for nearly 20 years in this apartment you know. Initially my friends kept me company, but after they went away, I think I’ve been alone here for nearly 15 years now”

“Didn’t you have any good friends in the building, or good neighbors?” I asked, at the same time asking myself, was I a good neighbor.

“Oh yes, I did. I made a couple of friends here in this building. But you know they also moved on. There was Mrs. Phellany down on the first floor, who died last year.” I had a faint recollection of her telling me this sometime before, and I knew I had heard about her friend’s death before. “Yeah, I got tired of the loneliness you know. There is nobody to talk to here in this building. Everyone is new here, and I hardly know anyone back from my time now. That’s why I am moving. At least three of my friends live there in the same colony – I will have someone to talk to.”

“Oh that’s great to know” I said, perhaps truly feeling happy for her “It will be sad to see you to go” I faked again, but this time hoping that it would console her that someone cared for her.

“Oh yes, I am sad about leaving this place too. I hope to find a neighbor like you there you know – you were always quiet, and never banged that door. You don’t know how much it meant to me. It will be sad leaving you too”

“Oh that’s not a big deal at all” I said, “Have a great stay ahead. If you need any help please let me know”, I offered with a heart, perhaps for the first time.

“Thanks for your offer. I will let you know. Have a good night ahead”

“You too” I said, and closed the door behind me. A second later, I heard her door knob shut.

As I slouched back again in my couch, I couldn’t help thinking about her – I hadn’t even invited her in during our talk; heck I had never wanted to talk to her, let alone invite. Perhaps I could have been a little more friendlier to here during my stay – she had lived alone for twenty years; perhaps all that she was trying to do while asking for those now ridiculous favors was talk to someone. I felt that lump in my throat again; it wouldn’t have hurt if I had spent a few more minutes exchanging pleasantries with her, so what if I would have faked it – it would have made her happy. Perhaps she knew it those times when I deliberately didn’t open the door that I didn’t want to talk – thinking back, I suddenly felt bad about it. Perhaps she wanted to share her sorrow with someone when she spoke about her friend’s death, and I didn’t care enough. As I looked around my apartment tonight, I wondered, I live in the same building as three of my friends. Sooner or later we all shall move on. Would I be left alone for the next twenty years alone in such a place? If it came to that, could I ever live in the same place for twenty long years, alone? With no one to talk to? As the TV blared on, I couldn’t help but feel moist, and put myself in her place for a while.

I wish I was a good neighbor. Heck, I wish I at least knew her name.