The Apartment.
The sun was flourishing as it descended behind the man-made, concrete, mountain range, determined not to be undone by such trivial temporal structures that accommodate the lower-middle class urban population in so many cities across the world. It seemed like the display was meant for us. We were out on the westward-facing balcony with a drink, watching the luminous descent. We had been in each others' company for nearly an hour. I had offered her everything short of my soul before she took the drink. I hoped that I hadn’t made too much of a fool of myself.
While she gazed out at the falling sun and sipped her water (with a wedge of lemon) I gazed at her; I’d seen the sun set before, to hell with the sun, Angelica was on my balcony. In my eyes no other beauty was comparable to her. Besides, her expressions summed up the setting sun and I didn’t miss a thing. I noted the exact instant her expressions changed, from one shade to the next, admiring the spectacle laid before her; first wonder, then warmth, which slowly melted away into a pensive peace. Everything was perfect; it came as a total shock when she found herself in pain.
“Ouch!”
I didn’t want to hear that. The declaration of pain was genuinely shared, though while hers was physical, having been impaled by two of the shed needles from the Christmas tree that was removed a couple weeks ago (in mid May), my pain was that of having such a beautiful moment ruined, not to mention having indirectly caused pain to Angelica. She sat, removed her black Italian suede sandal-esque three-inch heel, and clutched her foot. I sat, took it from her, and set it in my lap. Just my luck, a couple of browned evergreen needles had lodged themselves in her big toe. I considered amputation, being healthier in the long run if the wound were to become gangrenous. I excused myself and got her a Band-Aid. I removed the protruding flora, washed her foot, and bandaged the wound. We were laughing about it before the treatment was complete. Hitherto, I had never thought of feet as beautiful features. The stabilizing nature of them was appreciated, but they were often rank, rough, and soiled by dirt, sweat, and sock remnants. Having her foot in my hands led me to a whole new perspective, almost an epiphany; I almost understood, on a hedonistic level, certainly not the intended one, why Christ washed the feet of his disciples: there is a perspective gained in doing things for others that cannot be fathomed in having things done for you. I realized then that I would do anything for this girl, and that I mustn’t let her know as much, lest I become taken advantage of. I still didn’t know much about her, only that I was falling deeper into whatever emotion I felt every time I saw her.
“Jim should be here soon to pick us up.”
She didn’t sound eager or resentful to leave my abode, she implicitly stated, in a matter-of-factly tone, that it would be impolite if we were to keep Jim waiting. This was true, and courtesy is a wonderful trait, so I wasn’t crushed at her leaving, especially since it was together we left my apartment, took the elevator to the lobby, and waited in the front of the building for Jim. The microwave clock was flashing ‘RESET’, but I’m sure it was time to go.
Outside my apartment building, in the cover of night, or even dusk for the more daring, any number of hoodlums, criminals, and young people can be caught doing an assortment of misdemeanors and or felonies. I made it a point to ignore most of the goings-on; however, sometimes, the goings-on would not ignore you. Once again we were greeted by silence when Angelica became revealed to the throng. Not good. You see, the criminal element requires some distractions to flourish; shuffling steps, whispers, and general hustle and bustle can add up into an effective cover. Angelica had a tendency to put a stop to all such distractions and command attention. I’m sure it was innocent, but that just compounded the effect. Every shady transaction ceased. The victim of an assault hobbled to his feet and would have successfully scampered away had he not turned back to see what the lack of fuss was about. When he saw Angelica he too was under her spell.
The spell Angelica unwittingly casts on those around her is undone in due time… and unfortunately an enhanced sense of consciousness follows. She sobers up the drunkards and brings the high back to earth. I think it’s a side effect of the apparent innocence. Nonetheless, a fifty-dollar joint shared by three teenagers was discarded and the kid who sold it to them fled their wrath. The innocent victim who recovered quicker than his assailants, I can only assume it’s because of his being somewhat familiar with virtue himself, also mustered a renewed vigor and, coupled with his third-degree black-belt, kicked their asses in self defense. Then there was them. Only two of them, and they approached with a grimace marring their scarred faces. They were bad. You can recognize the extent to which something is truly evil only when it comes into contact with a certain degree of good. The greater the difference between the varying degrees the more frightening their encounter. When a massive good confronts a miniscule bad, the bad is overwhelmed and faint, the opposite holds should the bad so overpower the good. When equal forces meet, a victor must be established. Angelica took the offensive.
“Hi.”
Let no one deny the power of the spoken word. I looked at her, smiling at these misguided souls, and I was empowered.
“Either of you looking to score?”
This was them. The two minions offered us pills, vials, powders, and pouches, all of which were declined by a smile and a “no thanks”.
“You sure? We could make it worth your while. You see, when you came out our customers took off with a new-found conscience. We figure you owe us some business. If you give it to us, we won’t kick your ass.”
They were speaking to me. Not even they would dream of harming the beauty that stood next to me.
Not quite as empowered as I had thought…
“I’d really love to guys, but I don’t do drugs.”
“Good for you. Tell you what, if you just compensate our loss we’ll let you go with your girlfriend on your merry way.”
Increasingly aware of the total absence of power that I wielded…
“Again, I’d love to, but I don’t have a lot of cash on me.”
Ouch. This time it was me. Without another word the jerk punched me in the gut. I’ve been punched in the gut before, a number of times actually, but it never hurt so much as it did now; with a stabbing pain pouring out of me and I doubled over falling to my knees. Holding my stomach I began to feel cold and clammy, with the exception of that part of my torso that was burning and wet. It wasn’t until I caught a glimpse of my assailants running away, and the glint from an object one had clenched in his hand that it dawned on me; I wasn’t just punched, I was stabbed. Angelica caught on when one of my bloodied hands jutted out to catch me as I crumbled even lower. I’m sure that there are better ways to go about seeking such attention, but for the time being I was almost grateful for the circumstances that led up to the fuss Angelica presently made over me. She immediately came and knelt beside me. She clutched my arm and helped me to my feet. She led me to the wall of my building where she eased me back to the ground. I sat and bled while she beseeched passing strangers to call for help, all the while gently running her fingers through my hair as she supported my head on her shoulder. She succeeded eventually in rallying help, as I knew she would, and once help was reported to be on its way, she focused all of her attention on me. She struggled to keep positive, smiling when I managed to look at her, all the while holding the arm that I had covering my wound encouraging and aiding me to keep pressure against it. She tried to keep me conscious by telling me stories and anecdotes and little tidbits of her childhood, and although I was taking in and treasuring all that I could, not even she could forever ward off the darkness that descended upon me. I was powerless. Fade to black.
Death is, as Shakespeare noted, the undiscovered country. There truly is nothing I could say about death, nor could I so much as imagine anything concrete enough to put into words. Consequently, death remains an end and not a new beginning, as many believe. Personally, I don’t know what I believe, nevertheless, that is only to say that, for those I leave behind, I can no longer communicate my thoughts or ideas on my experiences, and thus they remain, for you, unknown. It should now be apparent that I could not possibly have died, because I am still communicating with the living. Still, when I woke up, I was quite surprised. Especially upon seeing that it was a woman’s backside that had jarred me awake, undoubtedly having lost her balance overcompensating for the bus stopping. She promptly left. Still, I was on the bus… and that was a confusing revelation.
“What bus is this?”
“It’s the downtown to the mall.”
“What’s the time?
The poor guy I was questioning showed me his wrist… more accurately, his watch.
“It’s not even seven?”
I couldn’t believe it. In what would surely have appeared as a melodramatic reenactment of some Jim Carey scene, I abruptly stood and searched my stomach for signs of gashes or pains and found neither. I did however receive a dollar from a woman who sat not far from where I was lifting up my shirt, mistaking my performance for one of a very different magnitude. I pocketed the offering and sat back down. It had only been five minutes since I stepped onto the bus with the intention of returning home after a long half-day at work. My overactive imagination had gained frightening momentum the past few days, and I was getting worried. I could no longer tell down from up. Was this just some extension of another dream? Would I awake again in a cold sweat to repeat an endless cycle of misspent moments never to be realized? It was appearing that way, because at that moment to my awkward surprise, Angelica paid her fare and glided down the isle towards me. That’s when I knew that my infatuation had developed a budding romantic undertone. When I saw her that day on the bus, I saw the same beautiful woman who later walked down the aisle on my wedding day, and who I lived with for forty years, through thick and thin, and loved through peaks and valleys.
“Frankie?”
I was getting ahead of myself again; it wasn't even seven. It wasn’t in my nature to plan or hypothesize so I decided to focus on the present situation before I made any more overreaching projections. First thing’s first, my name is Phillip not Frankie.
“Angelica? Hey. How are you doing?”
What’s in a name anyway. She could call me jackass and I’d still respond in the same fashion; totally enchanted by some unnamed magic.
“I’m fine.”
She certainly was, and that wouldn’t be the last time I’d use equivocation to my advantage.
“That’s good to hear. What have you been up to?”
I figured it was best not to be too forward and to allow for some communication.
“Not much… working.”
“Are you going back to school in the fall?”
“Yeah, second year of four.”
“Me too.”
It’s always good to establish a connection, find some common ground, where two can share their perspectives of similar vantage points.
She held the bar that ran along the bus’ interior directly in front of me as we spoke. I offered her my seat but she refused it laughing and took the empty one beside me. I tried to remain focused, but I wouldn’t be able to recall much of what was said during that bus ride. I just remember being there, having it happen, sitting next to Angelica laughing, smiling, talking, sharing; the 15-minute bus ride seemed to take an eternity; it was the best eternity I ever spent. Eternal moments are abundant in the regular course of life, you just have to know how to take them in and file them away. Any one particular span of time can become eternal; one of those moments that compile those vivid memories that make up our repertoire of stories and act as milestones that can never be forgotten. Even when I reluctantly pulled the cord and excused myself to exit at the stop in front of my apartment complex I knew that I would return to this bus ride again and again and that it would never be forgotten.
I left with a wave and a forced smile. The hidden hydraulics that always hiss when a bus lurches forward did so, and queued the instant that Angelica was carried to a separate unknown destination, presumably for a longer duration than my sanity would bear. I stood there watching as it moved forward, slowly at first, while it tried to gain momentum, then was forced to a stop at the red light it encountered 10 meters ahead. I had an urge to cross at the lights so that I could pass the bus once more and catch a glimpse of her stunning presence through the windowpane… pain is more accurate. When I looked up I saw nothing but the reflected image of the sky above, blanketed in a suburban smog haze… stupid characteristics of light. When I reached the intersection where the bus was stopped I stepped off of the curb in front of it and was almost an unwilling passenger masquerading as a hood ornament. Luckily the driver warned me by pressing the petal to the floor, causing the hulking mass-transit vehicle to peel out, leaving me in a thin cloud of burning rubber. As my lungs and nasal passages cleared I noticed that no sooner had the bus screeched to a start than it screeched to a halt on the opposite side of the intersection. I thought the bus driver was going to go postal and chase me down for stealing the rubber particles I inhaled, however, much to my surprise and elation, who should emerge but the girl of my dreams, and as she stepped to the ground she made sideways glances, I presumed in search of me, so I called to her… with little confidence.
It was too late. No sooner had I opened my mouth than the last bulb fizzled out, the load, one brick short, toppled over, the incomplete deck of cards was dropped and the people in the black van that stood constant watch over my fleeting sanity saw their queue and came to a screeching halt beside me right there to pick up the pieces. The men in white coats that everyone jokes about, leapt from the van, tackled me to the ground, restrained me, (If you’re wondering, straight jackets aren’t comfortable) and had me promptly committed.
“Frankie!”
I really should say something about my name…
“Angelica? What are you doing?”
All in due time, let’s not loose sight of what’s important… maintaining the moment so that it may be maintained.
She held aloft a small black canvas wallet. It looked remarkably like my own, and after a quick search of the pockets, the fact that it was my own was made clear. That, and her having rummaged through it to find identification, confirmed it pretty well, especially since the ID had my face on it. We met halfway, which was rather foolish considering we were on either side of a busy intersection, and became even more so once the light changed and stranded us on the concrete median that divided the two constant flows of traffic.
“Thanks.”
“Excuse me?”
I’m too soft spoken and the traffic was noisy.
“I said, ‘Thanks’!”
This time I said it a little louder. She handed me my wallet with a smile. I wish I could have kept a copy of that smile in my wallet. Yet, it would be too incongruous tucked in with my embarrassing mug shot license. She said something. I was too busy thinking about how beautiful she was when speeding traffic was playing with her hair, causing it to go every which way, over her face and mine (we were that close), which resulted in her attempts to tame it with her hands. I gently brushed a wild strand behind her ear and got another smile as a reward. I tried to return it but I’m sure I ended up with that part-smile mostly-smirk that ends when I coyly turn away. As I turned, the traffic light did too, so we walked together to the side of the road where I began, the crossing of a street away from my building. She looked at me, like she was waiting for some response. I must have looked as confused as I was because she had to repeat another question I didn’t hear.
“Would you mind?”
Still nothing… I needed a little more.
“If I made a call from your place?”
There it is.
“Mind? No, not at all, it’s the least I could do…”
She smiled again, the same beautiful smile; I could never get sick of that beautiful smile. We walked to my building and I swiped my security access card that enabled me to enter the premises. Half a dozen people lurking by the door took the opportunity to follow my lead, especially since the security booth, conveniently located in the lobby by the elevators, was empty. We squeezed into a crowded elevator, where we overheard that two of the three were for some reason or another not in service. That was toned down and pieced together from the various profane mumbling that often acts as our elevator music. We got off on the ninth floor and entered my domicile.
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