Second Residence

The bus squealed to a stop, and Aaron pulled one strap of his bag higher on shoulder.  He left with the rest of the departing passengers, footsteps reduced to an awkward half shuffle where his feet barely left the ground.  It’s a sunny Friday afternoon, a little humid but not too bad.  It’s never a bad thing to get done work a little early on a Friday.   The crowd funneled through the bus doors and hit the pavement, diffusing into the flow already in the streets. Aaron broke his shuffling stride and began the walk back home to his apartment. He weaved between the slower moving people, dipping his shoulder and sidestepping, not in a great hurry, just accommodating his long stride  Sweat stuck to the back of his shirt, and Aaron shifted his bag to his other shoulder.  He still preferred to walk and didn’t really mind the heat.  Summer is the season where girls are apt to wear less clothes, and that can make up for a lot of inconveniences   His pleasant daydream was interrupted by the quiet ringing of his phone.  Aaron raised the cell to his ear, not slowing his pace at all.

“Yo.”

“Yo man.” It was Jimmy.  “It’s Jimmy.”

            “No shit.  What’s up?”

            “You still wanna go out Saturday?  Have some beers, play some darts?”

            “You still wanna get your ass whupped Jimmy, like every other time we play?”

            “Ha ha, very funny.  Fucker.  What are you doin now?”
            “Got out of work early.  I’m almost home now, walking in the lovely sunshine, surrounded by beautiful women.”

            “You really are a fucker.  I’m stuck here until 9.  Some training session that got rescheduled for a Friday night.  What genius made that decision, huh?  I’d bet he got out early today, just like you.”

“Sucks to be you.  Call me tomorrow Jimmy, we’ll figure something out.”
”Later man.  Say hi to all those hot chicks for me.”

“Sure thing.  Later man.”

            Aaron rounded the corner of Landes Road.  His apartment was in the middle of the row, and he passed the usual gaggle of screaming neighborhood kids and moms gathered in a cluster on the porch with the best shade.  He gave a glance over his car as he passed, making sure no one had bounced off of it as they made their way down the narrow, one way street.  Aaron’s neighbor Jack sat in a fading lawnchair, his feet soaking in an inflatable kiddie pool.  A crumpled pack of Marlboro’s was balanced delicately on the chair’s arm,  and Jack ashed onto the pile of Old Milwaukee empties on his right.  His gut took over his lap, as if Jack were thirteen months pregnant. 

            “Nobody hit your car.  I’ve been watching it all afternoon.”

            “Thanks Jack.  How is your tan coming along?”

            “Swell.” Without looking, he reached into the chipped Styrofoam cooler on his left and grabbed another Old Mill.  Condensation dripped onto Jack’s yellowed wifebeater.  “Hey, if the Phils beat the Mets tonight, they’ll be fifteen games up on those bastards.  They almost have the division locked up!” 

            “As long as they take two out of three from New York, I’ll be happy.” Aaron pulled his keys out of his pocket.  Car key, key to his lock for the gym, a black key, and his apartment key, all hanging from a plastic green shamrock.

“Damn straight.  Go Phils.”

“Go Phils.”  Unlocking his door, he went into his apartment, dropping his bag on the recliner by the door.  Aaron walked up the steps, carpeted in faded orange shag, and opened the door to his bedroom.  The window was open, and the sounds from the street drifted into his room like heat waves off the baking pavement.  Kids yelling, an occasional car passing by.  Aaron kicked off his shoes and turned on the fan that stood in the corner of his room.  He fell back on the bed, arms spread wide, and stared at the crack in the plaster that ran from the middle of the ceiling to the corner by the window.  Without looking, Aaron reached to his nightstand and grabbed one of the books that was sitting on top.  It was Crime and Punishment.  As the fan swept back and forth, air currents kicked at the pages.  After about half an hour of Raskolnikov’s wandering through St. Petersburg Aaron’s eyes grew heavy and the book dropped to his chest. 

            He awoke several hours later, the sky grown darker during his slumber.  He smelled burgers from a neighbor’s barbecue.  Aaron left the book on his bed and went downstairs, flipping on the tv in the living room.   The Phillies were down four to three in the bottom of the seventh.

“Dammit.” Aaron muttered.  He walked into the kitchen and opened up the fridge, staring at his options.  The leftover spaghetti seemed like his best option.  He grabbed a half empty Wawa ice tea and the last clean fork in the silverware drawer. 

“A long fly ball, going deep! It’s outta here!” the tv blared. Aaron rushed back into the living room in time to see Ryan Howard, the Phillies MVP first basemen, trot around the bases, slapping hands with Utley and Shane Victorino at home plate.  The Phils were back on top, six to three.  Aaron settled down into the comfortable groove worn down in the couch cushion, finishing the cold leftovers.  He watched the Phils hold the lead, winning six to four, Tom Gordon striking out the last two Mets. 

“Thank Christ.  Fifteen games in first.”  Aaron leaned back on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.  Sounds from the street had mostly died down with the setting sun.  He stared at his feet, backlit by the postgame interview of Ryan Howard.  Aaron got up from the sagging couch and went back to his room.  He picked up Crime and Punishment again, but the words seemed to run together and he couldn’t concentrate.  Aaron stared at his feet again as he sat on his bed, toes curled into the ancient orange shag.  His arms crossed over his stomach, and he bent over, almost in half. 

Abruptly he sat up straight, pulling on the shoes he had kicked off hours earlier.  Going back downstairs, he stood in his living room, staring at the empty bowl that had held the old spaghetti, the ice tea container dripping condensation into a ring on the coffee table.  Aaron spun on his heel toward the door, leaving the dishes there.  A cool breeze picked up as he stood on his front stoop, and he shivered.  Aaron pulled his keys out of his pocket, black key pinched between thumb and forefinger.  He sighed and examined the key closely, although he knew exactly what it looked like, how the edges were chipped at places to reveal a dull gray underneath the black paint, how the key itself bent slightly to the left.  He closed his eyes and rubbed the worn teeth.  Aaron could pick the key out of pile of a thousand by touch alone.  He sighed again and locked the door with his apartment key, letting the black one go to hang by the rubber shamrock ring with the others. 

“Whatin . . . fuc’ yuh lookin at?” Aaron spun to his left to see Jack still sitting on his lawn chair, the mountain of beer cans at his side dwarfed only in relative size by the mountain of ash that had collected on gut, dotted here and there by burns on his wifebeater.  His head swung from neck, as if he barely had the strength to lift his bald, sunburnt skull.    

“Nothin.” Aaron muttered, sticking his hands into his pockets and coming off the stoop.  He strode down Landes Road, Jack repeating his slurred question until he got further down the block and out of earshot.  The cool breeze picked up again, and Aaron hunched his shoulders up and ducked his head.  He didn’t look much past his feet.  A passing car’s headlights illuminated the ground in front of him, an oversize shadow of himself onto the sidewalk.  He was just about where the street’s kids were playing football earlier in the day, and an irregular splotch of what must have been blood had dried on the ground.  Aaron wasn’t sure if the glint of brighter white that lay nestled in the expansion joint of the sidewalk was a tooth.  He barely broke his stride as the car and its bright headlights passed.  Aaron stepped into his shadow and continued his journey in relative darkness. 

At the corner of Landes and Brainerd, Aaron took a left.  The cool breeze picked up even more.  Aaron’s footsteps slowed to a shuffle, his feet barely leaving the ground.  He watched his feet take him down the streets, led by old habit rather than conscious decision.  Another car illuminated the sidewalk in front of him.  Aaron jumped a little and his head snapped up when the car hit its sirens and the night turned blue and red.  He stopped to watch the cop car speed down the street and make a sharp turn, tires squealing.  The sound quickly faded, and Aaron sat down on the low stone wall behind him.  The crumbling stones leaned precariously forward, doing their best to define the small yard behind them from the sidewalk in front.  Aaron leaned his head back and watched high clouds gather to cover the half moon.  The night grew darker and colder, and Aaron’s feet took him forward once again, routine ingrained by old habit.  There were few people walking these particular streets.  Most passed by, as singularly quiet as Aaron and similarly alone.  He only passed one couple, a man and a woman.  With one hand, the man gripped the woman tightly above her elbow and was hurrying her along, the other hand waving and pointing in the air.  He whispered in her ear, and Aaron only heard her tearful reply of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  Aaron took a deep breath and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. 

Aaron’s feet stopped, and he stared at them for a moment, at the slightly scuffed leather and the worn sidewalk beneath, both familiar views.  He turned to his left and stared at the dark shabby house, sandwiched between houses just as dark and shabby.  A set of narrow stone steps, blocked off by a rusty wrought iron gate, sits at the corner of the porch.  Aaron pulled out the worn black key to unlock the door at the bottom of those steps.  The air was slightly stale as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him, not much warmer than the air outside. It’s a small basement apartment, with painted cinderblock walls.  It was his second residence. 

Aaron sat down on the creaky bed, then laid slowly down on the musty sheets, stared at the drop ceiling, with water stained, sagging tiles.  One tile in the corner of the small room is missing completely, and insulation hangs down.  He reached for the tv remote control, sitting underneath the pillow.  Aaron flicked the tv on, turning the sound almost all the way down.  There’s not much on at this hour, only infomercials for food processors and commercials for Girls Gone Wild.  He kicked off his shoes and the let the murmur of the tv put him to sleep. 

He woke up the next morning, curled into a fetal position in the corner of the bed.  The television was still on, and weak sunlight filters through the narrow rectangular window above his bed.  He lay on his side, listening to the sound of his breathing and curls up tighter.  After awhile he stood up and stretched.  There were two doors in the corner of the bedroom.  He walked over and opened the door on the right.  It had a toilet and a shower stall, cordoned off in a rough, hasty manner from the bedroom.  He took a piss, and the toilet was slow to flush and even slower to fill.  Aaron returned to the bedroom and sat down at the edge of the bed, staring at his feet.  He laid back down and fell asleep. 

Aaron woke up later, curled into a fetal position on the other side of the bed.  The room was darker now, as the sun has moved away from his narrow window.  He walked over to the second door and entered the small kitchen, with its cold and peeling linoleum floor.  There was an ancient electric stove and a small, slightly less ancient fridge next to it.  Aaron pulled a half gallon of Wawa ice tea out of the fridge.  A search of the two cabinets atop the stove revealed a bag of stale Doritos, and Aaron took the chips and the ice tea back to the bedroom.  He watched reruns of Hogan’s Heroes, eating half of the stale bag.  It was still cold in the room, and Aaron barely moved.  The tips of his fingers became slightly numb and blue, as did his toes.  After the reruns ended,  Aaron turned off the tv. There were a number of paperbacks with the covers ripped off lying on top of the dresser in the bedroom.  His keys were also on the dresser, and an old phone gathers dust next to the books.   He had never bothered to bring his cell phone here.  It got no signal, and was pretty much useless.  The phone that sat on the dresser had been here as long as Aaron had, although it was useless as well.  Nowhere in the apartment was a phone jack to plug it into.  Aaron grabbed the paperback on top of the pile and laid back down in bed.  After a half an hour, he didn’t even remember what he has been reading, the characters, the action, the point at all.  He dropped the book on the floor and scratched his chest.  After a while he fell asleep. 

Aaron awoke the next morning, curled up tightly.  He looked at the bag of stale nachos sitting at the edge of the bed and then looked for his shoes.  He grabbed his keys off the dresser and headed outside, locking the door behind him and slowly shuffling his way up the steps.  His feet led him to the nearest Wawa.  Aaron kept his eyes down, clutching the keys in his pocket tightly.  The touch screen at the convenience store allowed him to order a classic meatball with American cheese without speaking, and he grabbed another half gallon of ice tea.  Food in hand, the tops of his shoes directed him back to the apartment.  It was still colder inside his room than outside, and he locked the door behind him before dropping the keys back on the dresser.  He ate the hoagie while watching ESPN Sportscenter, then lay back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.  He scratched at the stubble on his face, then reached for the book he dropped on the floor yesterday.  The words droned on until he fell asleep again. 

With a start, Aaron uncurled from sleep and looked at the tv.  Sportscenter was still on, and the clock at the bottom of the screen showed 6:36 am.  He ran a hand through his slightly greasy hair and went over to the dresser, looking for some clean clothes.  Aaron found a wrinkled but clean shirt, but had to wear the pants he already had.  He took a swig from the bottle of ice tea before putting his shoes back on.  Aaron stared for a while at the low pile brown carpet below his feet before turning off the tv.  Aaron locked the door behind him and slowly came up the narrow stone steps.  He stood at the top of the steps and turned around, looking at the house behind him.  In all the years he had been here, he had not met or even heard anyone else living here.  Aaron turned quietly and left.   He needed a different bus to get to work from here.

Aaron shuffled onto the crowded bus, doing his best to avoid touching anyone else.  He felt nervous surrounded by so many people, and held his breath when a sudden stop or pothole in the road bounced the bus and someone inadvertently brushed against him.  He stared out the window and sighed, wondering which apartment he would end up at tonight.  The black key burned cold in his pocket.