Retreat

It rained again today. It's been raining all week, a variation of drizzle and torrential downpours--always just enough to keep me indoors. I haven't been able to go on my daily walk, so today I decided I'd travel only as far as the lobby. I thought I might watch the residents come and go. What an interesting experience that turned out to be. The first man I saw on my journey appeared a bit tipsy. He didn't quite have his costume on right. To tell you the truth, I wasn't really sure why he was dressed up like that. It's not like it's Halloween. Of course before I had time to ponder that further, an even odder woman marched by. I couldn't tell you what she looked like, other than I caught a whiff of death seeping from her bag. As my mother used to say, she gave me the heeby-jeebies. It was like she'd crawled up from the Underworld, the way she felt to me. My mama always said I had a sort of sixth sense about these things. Maybe that woman works in a morgue or in a cemetary. Whatever she does, it's something disgusting, something sub-human, something no Wainwright would ever so much as acknowledge. And I didn't. I turned up my nose, wrinkled because of the stench, and ignored her. And as soon as she was safely out of sight, I took the elevator back to my floor to make a strong cup of camomile tea. Soothes the soul, my mother used to say.

Through a shrouded lens

Some new boy got off the bus today. I haven't seen him around here before. All I know is he looked lost. He just stepped right off the bus and stood there for a minute or two like he didn't quite know what to make of this building. I must admit it shocked me at first; it's one of those places where you know its bad going in, but you're never quite prepared enough.

Anyway, he reminded me of a kangaroo. You see, there's this book about a kangaroo named Katy, who has no pocket, and she doesn't know what to do with her baby. She tries putting him on her back, but he falls off when she hops, and he's too slow to keep up. He's always left behind.

I sometimes feel like that. And this boy reminded me of that feeling-staring dazedly up at this massive mausoleum. After all, fourteen floors of filth and decay is quite a sight. Me, I prefer the view from above. On days like today, I get bored and just need someone to watch. I take the elevator up to the roof and look down on the dilapidated buildings that stretch as far as my rheumy eyes can see.

Mamie Wainwright Apt. 730

A package arrived at apartment 730 today. The return address was from a storage locker in Lumpkin County, Georgia--an address I recognized well. This was the last of the silver I confiscated from Henry's estate. I had returned the keys to the storage company a week previously. The furniture I'd taken looks a little classy for this shabby neighborhood--I've certainly fallen from my former position as the wife of Henry Wainwright. But as they say in Clue, it was a matter of life or death. Now that he's dead, I have a life.

Not that I killed him or anything. He just up and disappeared one day, leaving no will. The only provision for me was his army benefits. Lucky for me, I know how to take care of myself. That wholesome Southern background, you know? I went straight to the bank after he disappeared and took out as much as they'd let me. Little did I know the IRS were parked around the corner. Luckily those government types would never expect an old lady. I went straight home and cleaned out the house.

So it's tacky--I know, I was brought up right. And the Georgia Wainwrights have a reputation above reproach. We had the prestige and the money to get away with anything. We were old money-that's the important thing. Not that anyone here would notice the distinction, which is what I'd intended. This lease is under a different name. I've canceled all my old accounts. I feel like an escaped convict, hiding out and watching those around me, just in case they work for the IRS. Those tax collectors remind of the Sheriff of Nottingham in that Disney Movie. Couldn't catch me. I'm just like a modern Robin Hood, only I'm keeping the loot. Got to look after number one. After all, I'm the only Wainwright left, and someone had to pay for my new apartment. I'm just afraid the cash I have won't convince the super to change my stove. I can't have gas burners- I'm an old lady. I might accidentally light myself on fire. What I need is a quality electric like I had back home. I did ask him to come fix it--at least I think that man was the super--but he hasn't come yet. Maybe I should go talk to him again. . . .