Stacks of Sadness

Stacks of Sadness
a short story by Diana Weeks

Pat, best pal drove over from San Antonio to help me find a new abode.. She drove… all day for three days. We climbed stairs, down crunchy gravel paths… and could not find anything that made me feel as safe as the Palmer House…We had checked out a Heights complex for senior citizens…but they had no vacancies. Thank you, Jesus.

Then …on our way home…West on the side street from the Palmer House…less than four blocks away … Pat noticed a courtyard at the rear of a sixteen unit apartment complex, I never see “for rent” signs there…as I got out of the car… I heard laughter.

The manager/owner had just sold the 1970’s property and moved. I rented his apartment… It’s not as big as the Palmer but my small upstairs apartment opens to a deck. shaped like the blunt end of a cruise ship … from the rail I see the courtyard below fountains, splashing in a pool, a white round cement table, plants, flowers and a big barbecue grill… a party was going on.

The party makers, Lynn and Mike, lived downstairs by the mailboxes and talked to neighbors …from a long cement bench where the young couple… sat when Mike got home from work… she an art history major and he…a cub reporter for the Chronicle. They took time off to talk. They made each other laugh, so in love they were delightful to be around…just feeling the warmth from their glow. Mike gives Lynn a raised eyebrow smile and makes her giggle.

The final day I moved in…my wheels fell off…I rested. My daughter Ellen, and her helpful husband were unloading the last load. They started giving away…the “no room for” furniture and bundles of things …to the young folks who came to help them unload the van.

Lynn and her neighbor friends… got bags of over flow from my closet… back at my large “New York” deco apartment…neighbors got rugs from my Palmer sun room and office. The home where I had planned to die…would soon be torn down… the whole block. The artistic tenants thought the Palmer House should be preserved with a large engraved bronze plaque with all our names…to be a Montrose tourist attraction. Now the Palmer House has been erased from the earth…lost the same year my sweetheart and brother died.

Lynn especially liked my art. She would come upstairs to invite me to weekend parties. She introduced me to her friends from high school...Lynn made me feel like I had a little fan club.

I spend a lot of time on the deck…Lynn visited when I was out,,, but never disturbed me when I was writing. . I went to the parties but I didn’t stay late…Lynn worried that I would be disturbed…”No, no…” I convinced her, “It makes me feel at home”.

We talked about art and politics. She didn’t gossip about neighbors. Her folks from the white suburbs were a little uncomfortable with Hispanic Mike…whose Dad was mad. Lynn was like a butterfly with the happiness of being in Love... Lynn wanted to finish college… so she could have a baby…with Mike.

Her job at Starbucks was the early shift, she had to get up at five…and work until her after noon University of Houston classes…then home to do housework till Mike got there. They visited neighbors on the bench, drinking beer, until time for supper, often Mike barbequed but then Lynn still had hours of study…she was living on, six hours sleep. Her winter cold…drug on. I quizzed her. “I know I should rest on the week ends” Lynn admitted, “but by the time the weekend is here, I just want to have fun”. I didn’t lecture her.

I learned I could write at the new apartment…I could walk to the post office, library, drug store, buy groceries, eat out, listen to music…but most of all… it was good to be around young people. ..Some finishing college others working…many both. They have energy and things to talk about besides ungrateful kids, high prices and poor health.

First I heard from a neighbor, that Lynn had the flu…I didn’t go over because I didn’t want to catch it. Next Mike had taken Lynn to St. Luke’s hospital…I was on my way to take her an ivy plant and she came up the stairs and said they released her…but she was picking up some things and going home with her Mother to recover completely. They had no health insurance.

I saw Mike that evening, he was staying in town, and he said she told him she was better. Two days later, I heard a hesitant knock. It was Mike. “How’s Lynn?” I inquire, ready to invite him to lunch.

He couldn’t speak for a moment, “Lynn died. She got sicker last night and they took her to their local hospital and she died this morning”

I hugged him. “No, no, no”...I cried, sobbed, I couldn’t stop. Every sadness from the past caught up with me. I could not stop crying. Mike cried…and tried to comfort me…I was too blown apart to comfort him.

I went with neighbors to her funeral…standing room only. Lynn was twenty-two.

Mike couldn’t stand to live in their apartment. Seeing us reminds him…of how much Lynn loved him. All out. He moved back with his folks…we lost him too. It’s quieter now…laughs not as hardy.

Neighbors bought a weather proof relief sculpture to screw on the wall between the bench and their apartment…in Lynn’s memory. The sculpture is of a beautiful young woman…holding a jug of wine on her shoulder. Last month I noticed a new tenant using the memorial art to hang… her long red dog leash. It bothered me. I mentioned it to my close neighbor George and he disagreed, “Lynn is still helping someone.” Personally, I was glad when that renter and her dog moved away.


THE END
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