At first I thought it was this weird man who has the set jaw, the bulging eyes and the mealy-mouthed speech of a hardened alcoholic now sober but really not so sharp anymore. He calls out good morning to my landlord, Ron, every morning and talks about the likelihood of foul weather. At first the yelps were, "RON! RON! RON!" so I thought it was this man trying to get Ron's attention about maybe a broken window or something, but the yelps change to flat out, "HELP HELP HELP." They would go for about two minutes at five minute intervals so finally I realized I must not ignore these yelps, that these were not coming from mealy mouth and someone needed help.

I knocked on the door of the apartment where I had been told an old disabled man lives and the voice got stronger. "OH thank god! Come in!! Open the door! Oh thank god!" So I go in and there on the floor, draped over a giant red teddy bear (???) and a heap of blankets is an old man wearing a flannel shirt, a night cap and a diaper. "Oh my goodness, I fell down. Please HELP me, please HELP me. I fell down, I've been here all night." So I asked him how I should do it, in case he had, I don't know, a broken bone or something. I asked him if he was hurt. "No no, just pull me up." He was so old and frail and rubbery looking I envisioned myself pulling on one of his arms if I pulled too hard so I leaned down and put him over my shoulder and fully picked him straight off the floor. Also, bear in mind, I was shakey hungover too, no wits about me.

He seemed fine after that though. He yelled out in his 1940's radion announcer like voice, "Name's Wally Acton and god'll bless you honey. God'll bless you" and extended his rubbery, prop-like hand. He asked me my name too. "Molly? My grandma had a sister named Molly...Aunt Molly! Oh she was a lovely person...like you. God'll bless you Molly." Then I left.

A few things linger on the mind, 'why was his bed in the living room?' 'did I really just pick up an old man wearing a diaper' 'wtf was that giant red teddy bear' and 'oh my gosh, he has a baby grand piano?'

[As I type this, Ron and mealy mouth are out on the porch arguing over who dropped the ball with Wally.]

I'm starting to like living here.

11 March 2006 - 10:43 AM

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