Looking in the Rearview Mirror

For seven years I lived in a tiny apartment on what was a quiet street in a decent neighborhood. It was cheap, they welcomed cats, and I'd rented from the owners the first year I was here. There was a front yard with trees and flowers, I was happy.  A very old two story, light tan peeling paint on the stucco and wood trim. There's a non-locking entry door to a tiny mail "room" and then an entry door into the apartments. My apt was the first one as you came into the building. At first most of the tenants were responsible but as time went on and people would move out, who moved in were caricatures that could've been  found in Mad magazine. 

Living in that building was quite an experience. There was a "lovely" couple from Ecuador who had just welcomed a baby; one worked as a guard, the other in construction. Lots of fighting, and the man threatened another tenant with a knife because he thought the man had backed into his (horribly parked) car. Their favorite protein was beer. Above us lived a young college couple, and below us, three college girls who partied until 3 AM and didn't mind when one of their "guests" threatened other tenants. Then there was a woman struggling with addiction and her partner. A single mom, also battling addiction, lived next door with her toddler. After being evicted, she moved in with the single dad next door, and they soon had another child. It was a tight squeeze in their one-bedroom apartment, with three adults and three children. Lastly, there was an older man who harassed female tenants and whose girlfriend, the grandmother of a young girl who was tragically shot, openly sold her pain script meds.

Over lockdown there was a very tall, stocky man who broke through the entry door. I'd heard the glass shatter and thought it was maintenance. Obviously drunk, this guy kept talking about how his friend had molested an 8 year old girl that lived in the building. There was no 8 year old in the building. But, there was someone from the office who was showing a couple around the building. He saw what was going on but walked on out the back door with the couple. I was trying to get back into my apartment to call 911. He kept talking about this girl and I was getting very concerned. Then, he lays down on the floor in the hallway, put a hand down his pants and started masturbating. I made it into the apartment, called 911 and as I'm on the phone, he tried to get into the apartment. It wouldn't have taken much as the locks weren't great.

Then there was Drunkenstein: A single alcoholic mom. She made sure that her little girl was always clean and nicely dressed, and at school every morning. Unfortunately her alcoholism reared its head often. She often left the entry door propped open and after asking her several times to not do it, I reported it. The last time that I tried to explain (never try explaining anything to a drunk), we were standing out in the main hallway and she reached for the door and swung it back hitting my left shoulder blade. 

I'll save the details on Crack Whore and her pimp.

That is how things looked last year at this time, and whatever you call it: a miracle or karma or luck, this apt came open. And today, as I write this, I'm watching a beautiful city snowfall, content & happy.