A Study in Loneliness

Adagio

My mop stopped outside of her apartment door, frozen by the very sounds that I knew that I shouldn’t be listening to. I really didn’t intend to stop. Eavesdropping is just creepy. Yet, there it was, a whole, very private world that was none of my business. Hearing it was embarrassing but also intriguing. I should have just moved on but stayed instead.

Look, I’m less than an average guy just working for my room and board. I keep all six floors of this apartment building clean and picked up. I cut the grass. I shovel the snow. I clean apartments after tenants move out and sometimes that means that I hardly have to do anything and sometimes I walk into a disaster that takes days to finish. I help the repair team when they need me. Occasionally when a tenant is being selfishly loud, I pound on their door. All this for my rent, utilities and a tiny bit of money each month. I had this job for years now. My boss is happy. It keeps me from being homeless.

Painful experience taught me the most important part of this job. I learned all about minding my own business. Violating that basic rule always ended badly. Yet, here I was staring at the locked apartment door. She was whistling. No, really, whistling like a bird or something. It wasn’t the whistling that stopped me though, it was how she whistled.

Over the years, we would say “hello” to each other and say our first names as we passed in the hallway. Nothing more. She wasn’t particularly attracted to me and I wasn’t particularly attracted to her. She was like me in many ways though. For example, she obviously was college educated based on how she spoke, just like me. We both once probably were pretty good at what we did but now we both had stepped away from life for a bunch of reasons. Most importantly, we both were hermits. Over the years neither ever had guests and never had people in our lives. Maybe that is why I stopped mopping in the hallway that evening. It sounded as if she was talking to somebody really close and dear to her which I knew, (for both her and me), was impossible. Maybe I had a twinge of jealousy.

“Broccoli!!” she cheerily said as I heard a bag opening.

A bird whistled in reply.

“Yeah, I love broccoli as well” she giggled.

The bird happily whistled a comment.

“Ok…ok” she laughed, “I will use some butter.”

I stood open mouthed because after all of these years of knowing her it was certain that she didn’t have a bird in there. Most of the tenants called her “The Whistling Lady” because that is what she always did as she rushed through her chores and errands, always needing to hurry back to her apartment for some reason. She whistled as she did laundry in the building’s basement laundromat. She whistled as she hurried from the elevator with her shopping cart. She whistled as she got her mail from the main entranceway mail boxes. Today that “bird” whistled along with a few bars from Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor playing softly on her system somewhere in the apartment. The sad music kept me frozen to my spot in the hallway outside.

“I hope that you like chicken because we are having it again,” she had gotten stern.

Because the bird whistled happily in response I presumed that he/ she/ it was ok with that.

“Good,” (she was giggling again), “cause you’ll starve otherwise”.

I stood like a burglar caught in the night by a blazing spotlight. What especially stung as I clutched my mop was that the light on this eavesdropper showed me who I was as well….and that…really hit home….and the music broke my heart. It didn’t help this epiphany that my tenant hummed with the recording and the bird would sometimes take over for a bit. Both her humming and whistling were pretty good.

Moderato

I snapped out of my daze. It was more than over due time for me to go. This beautiful world was much too gorgeous to be invaded by me. I felt ashamed for having violated her privacy but still honored by having glimpsed her make believe world. Albinoni in G minor followed me reproachfully all of the way through finishing the mopping, putting away the equipment, and even back to my apartment. I subconsciously grabbed at dishes to make dinner.

Later, I sat over my chicken meal, (why did I choose chicken tonight?) At best I picked at my food. Strange how we humans deal with hurt, isn’t it? Oh, the beauty of the armor that we wrap around our wounded hearts to stop the pain. Dinner abandoned, I turned off all of the lights in my apartment to think about this. Clearly, this whole thing was about loneliness and love….and my…our…self-inflicted predicament with both.

What I remember about love, (though that was a while ago), is that love requires an open armed hug, which unfortunately, is a horrible defensive stance. When you let someone in that close they can and often do hurt you deeply. It is tough defending against a stab in the ribs using open arms. So in response, my bird lady built a most beautiful armor against being hurt again, hasn’t she? What a beautiful fantasy that she had, an always present friend, never dishonest, always cheerful, always encouraging. I imagined some sort of bird of paradise, so colorful that it almost glowed in my tenant’s apartment with her.  I almost found myself jealous again because no such beautiful bird bedecked my apartment.

Largo

“No, you have a mangy crow in your apartment instead” I said to myself.

“Oh stop whining you idiot. No one is holding a gun to your head. Go out and hit a bar with girls then,” Myself retorted back to I.

“Oh, like you will ever do THAT” I snipped back.

“Oh, so it’s back to watching a demented crow crap in the corner.” Myself wouldn’t let this one go.

“OH MY GOD, the crow is an allegory you fool…I….!”

“WAIT…I…AM…YELLING…AT MYSELF!” (I realized that I actually was yelling)! Which, that meant someone could be outside of my door listening! I started to whisper. “I am a crazy lunatic. I am yelling at myself in a darkened apartment. My God, am I damaged material or what?

I sat dejectedly in the night, shaking my head.

The crow wasn’t just allegory. The crow was real and sat in the dark with gleaming, red, eyes. I felt the ANGER that the bird had. “How could she have done this to me?” The angry crow repeated it over and over until I was repeating it over and over. I didn’t yell it though! I didn’t want someone outside my door to hear me. I whispered it.

It occurred to me that I needed to get out of this apartment and I did. I grabbed my big overcoat and the Ferrari hat that I inherited and headed out. Anywhere.

There was a church around the corner. I would go there. As the light from my building hallway shone into my dark apartment I looked back and saw the crow’s red eyes and then a thought struck me. “What was this all worth?” The thought of someone actually first of all, loving me, and then secondly, me loving back, was impossible. I stopped, turned around and went back into the darkness. The door lock behind me sounded like a dungeon portcullis. I dropped my coat were it fell and sat on the floor in the living room staring at the crow’s red eyes. My hand found the already opened bottle of whiskey, even in the dark. The reproachful bird never moved even once. Somewhere in the night, I fell asleep on the carpet. In the morning the nasty crow was gone. I got up and threw my empty whiskey bottle in the recycle garbage, gulped a quick breakfast and got out to pick up any trash on the grounds. A thought occurred to me as I picked up cigarette stubs. “Oh God help me, I can’t get out of this alone.”

Adagio. 

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3 NIV

Explore another story on this theme by reading Purpose.