APARTMENT 2237
Short story for Creative Writing Class.
Normally, the average person would be quite angry if their nice day was ruined by a random egg carton shattering on the floor of the cramped, fluorescent-lit elevator, shooting egg yolk all over your new dress slacks. The average person would rightfully expel rather colorful language, raising their voice at whomever was the cause. The average person would order them to pay for the dry cleaning, perhaps sending it to that new fancy place over on Sooter Street just to make them pay a little more.
Ms. Laura Graham, soon to be Lester, was ready to do so. She built up the air in her chest and clenched her fists, but as Laura looked up from the egg massacre to accuse the culprit of the Yolk Attack, her visceral remark died on her tongue. She swallowed every bile-like word that threatened to make its way up her throat. The older lady, with fear in her eyes, pleaded forgiveness as she leaned down to try and sop up the dripping yolk with her blue satin handkerchief.
“Oh my, oh my,” she said, “Oh silly old me. I must apologize; I thought I could take all of these groceries in one trip.”
Even though she was red with rage a second prior, Lauren managed a commendable, level-headed “It’s okay.”
“Oh, I must apologize--Damnit, Ruth,” Laura tried to muster up a sentence as the woman, which she now assumed was named Ruth, futilely dabbed at her pant leg, damaging the satin cloth as well. She couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands, whether to help or push the woman off her. Her floor had long passed; the metallic doors had shuddered to a close with a whine. The ding of the floors rang in her ears as they ascended further. The doors opened to one floor, showing a man in athletic gear, leg warmers, and a headband matching in an awfully fluorescent color--a fad that Laura personally hated. He took one look at the babbling woman and Laura probably looking like a deer in headlights and politely waved as if to say, “I’ll take the next one”.
“Oh, I have to do something about these pants,” Ruth finally stopped messing with the pants. A massive dark spot had blossomed across her left shin, staining the crimson-colored fabric; it looked like she had been shot.
“It’s really fine; accidents happen all the time,” Lauren tried, finally finding a source of hope as the door opened to the top level of their dingy apartment complex.
“Here, come with me. I know more about how to get that stain out than any snot-nosed, overpriced dry cleaner will.”
Ruth grabbed the sleeve of her matching blazer, tugging Laura along. She tried to muster an objection, but there was some reason why she found herself being too kind, too familiar, with this complete stranger. Their feet padded against the carpeted hallway. There was an occasional scrape of Laura’s heel against the soft ground, contrasting the sure and quick steps of the older lady. She still clung to her arm, determinedly dragging her through the corridor. Ruth was silent as she trod on, but Laura didn’t feel uncomfortable. The busy patterns on the wall started to hurt her eyes from staring at them for too long while walking. The floor wasn’t a much better sight: stains and rips littered the floor. There was an occasional flattened piece of gum, darkened with age, that Laura knew was too hard to even attempt to clean up. They rounded a corner, passing into a slightly dimmed part of the hallway due to a burnt-out light, and immediately stopped. Ruth let go of Laura’s sleeve to dig into her green crocodile-skinned purse, pushing aside her grocery bags to reach for her keys. Laura had every ability to leave, but she didn’t. In fact, she grabbed some bags from Ruth’s arm instead. Ruth looked surprised but still carried on with her search for her keys. She finally pulled out a giant hot pink fluff ball with jingling keys and keychains attached. She found the red colored key--it looked like she colored it with a red pen-- and stuck it into the door belonging to apartment 2537.
The cheap door swung open with ease. Laura followed Ruth into the room, her heels clicking against the linoleum flooring. A strong, but pleasant floral scent resided in the apartment. It was rose, more prominent now. Ruth set her groceries onto the counter with a huff, hurrying over to grab the bags still left in Laura’s arms. Ruth leaned around Laura as she stood in the doorway, shutting the door. She placed the other bags on the counter and set her purse down with a thud. Ruth left the door, humming a familiar tune that Laura couldn’t place. She returned with a cloth in her hands, eyeing Laura’s legs with a scrunched brow.
“I think these will fit,” she said, handing a skirt to Laura, “They’re from when I was about your age. They’ll have to do. Now hurry up and hand me your pants; the yolk will dry soon. The bathroom is to the right with the door open.”
Laura couldn’t even protest. She grabbed the skirt from Ruth’s outstretched hand, walking to the bathroom without question. She closed the door behind her, flicking on the fluorescent light, illuminating the salmon-colored bathroom. She locked the door with a flick and then paused. She didn’t know why she had willingly followed this stranger, but something felt right. There was an innate feeling of trustworthiness that resided in Ruth. Laura felt drawn to the woman, connected to her like she had known her for years. Maybe she was supposed to. The intrigue is what drove her recent actions. It was a break in the routine; perhaps that’s what she needed.
She slipped into the skirt, using the sink to wash off the dried yolk that had seeped onto her leg. Jammed into the edge of the mirror above the sink was an old, bent photograph of a younger couple. It looked like a vintage photograph like it was taken in the 40s. They looked so happy, the woman wrapping her arms around a man in a WWII military uniform. Laura didn’t stay in the bathroom for much longer.
“Ah perfect, I’ll be right back,” Ruth said once Laura returned and hurried into the kitchen, turning on the faucet and plugging the sink to soak the pants. Laura walked around, looking at the photographs and paintings on the wall. The same couple from the bathroom picture were in each, varying in age. Laura didn’t notice any children.
“His name is James,” Laura turned to ask for clarification, but Ruth interrupted, “I saw you looking at the pictures. His name is James Calahan. We met in 1939 in St. Louis Missouri. He was the love of my life.” Ruth trailed off, a happy tone in her voice. It was the tone of reminiscing on good memories.
“How’d he die?”
“The cancer,” she said, her smile falling.
“Oh...I’m so sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago,” Ruth set the partially scrubbed pants down into the soapy water, rubbing her hands on her skirt to dry them as she walked over to join Laura. The love and admiration that shone in Ruth’s eyes as she looked at the pictures of her late husband disturbed Laura. She had to look away, clearing her voice as an excuse. Ruth sighed, looking for just a moment longer before returning to the sink.
“Do you have a man in your life?” Ruth was trying to make small talk.
She nodded. “My fiance’s name is Scott. Can I use your phone?”
Ruth showed her to the yellow wall phone in the kitchen and Laura smiled instead of a thanks. She dialed the number perfectly out of habit and listened to the dial as she twirled her finger in the cord.
“Hey Scott, it’s me,” she started, Ruth, slowing her scrubbing so she could hear, “I’ll-uh- I’ll be a little late to dinner tonight. I know, I’m sorry. Something came up. Talk to you later.”
“Forgive me for being too forward, but you don’t seem too happy about your boy there.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sweetheart, I’m old, but I’m not an idiot.”
Laura swallowed a retort, choosing to sit instead at the small breakfast table in the kitchen area, facing her body towards Ruth. She picked at the wood of the table and frowned when a piece of deep purple chipped off her manicured nails.
“What’d you know about it?”
“What do I know about what, hun?”
“What’d you know about love, Ruth?” Ruth paused for a moment and Laura had realized Ruth had never introduced herself, “I’m Laura, by the way.”
“What do I know about love,” Ruth repeated, pulling the drain and wringing out the pants, “Well, frankly, I don’t know much. I loved my husband, I really did. I loved him with the same love you hear about in those romance films and books. But I was never able to experience the love of being a mother, you know? That was a plan that God did not have for me.”
Ruth paused for a moment, hands gripping the sink. Laura almost apologized, but had no clue what she would be apologizing for.
“What do you do, Laura?”
“I’m a- uh,” she gestured to her proper attire, “A businesswoman. Scott helped me get the job. I was a temp, a secretary, but they liked my work effort so they pulled me on full-time a couple of months ago to be a part of the accounting stuff.”
“Well, that’s good!”
“Yeah, anything to get away from that ass of a boss. The man only didn’t lay a hand on me because Scott was his friend, but that didn’t stop his comments. I’m pretty sure I only got the promotion because of Scott.”
Laura trailed off as Ruth opened the door to the small balcony, hanging up the pants with two clothespins on the makeshift clothing line she had strung up.
“Oh, hun, I’ve had some bad bosses in my life,” Ruth said, grunting slightly as she settled into the chair across from Laura, “And I mean shitty bosses. But I worked with some great ladies - I worked in a shirtwaist factory while James was over jumping out of ‘copters and punching Hitler - and we always made sure everyone was safe and that no lady was left behind. It was a rough time, but at least times are better.”
Laura huffed at that.
“I know, doesn’t seem like much, but at least our fighting has allowed you to have your fancy job that you have now, hun.”
“Yeah, but I still can’t make it in journalism. I even went to school in Boston for it and everything, and graduated in ‘83. God, that was hell. Just still so many mountains to climb. I tried and tried, but could never land a job, so eventually I just accepted the temp job I was offered. Scott always said that I’d never make it and he was right-”
Ruth waggled her finger in Laura’s face and Laura suddenly felt like she was 5 years old again.
“There is no talk like that in my house,” it was the first time that Laura had seen Ruth in any sort of disheveled state. Each movement the older lady made was sure and determined like every step was ingrained so deep in her body and each choice was divinely decided, “I have fought for many years for women like you to be able to live in a more free world and - goddamnit - you better allow yourself to do so.”
Ruth paused for a moment, sitting back in her chair and taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes and Laura couldn’t quite find a comfortable way to sit.
Even with her eyes closed, Ruth concluded, softer now: “I think you should do what you want to. Would you like some tea?” Laura nodded and Ruth hurried into the kitchen. Water filled the orange teapot and the silence. Ruth didn’t return until well after the kettle whined, setting a steaming mug in front of Laura; the tail of a cat formed the handle.
“You would have been a good mother.” Ruth didn’t reply, just smiled sadly to herself.
“Do you want to have kids, Laura?”
“I don’t think Scott wants to.”
“What do you want?”
“Hm,” Laura paused, really thinking for a moment, “I’m not sure. Not right now at least. Maybe someday though, yeah. That’d be really nice.”
Ruth paused for a moment too long. Her brow scrunched up again and she rubbed at her eye, smearing the bit of coal liner she had put on this morning. She wanted to say something, and Laura knew it. The silence grew.
“Why are you with Scott?”
It wasn’t what Laura was expecting at all.
“What do you mean,” Laura almost choked on the response.
“You don’t love him. And don’t even try to say you do.”
Laura took a breath, thinking for a moment before replying.
“He takes care of me.”
“And you think that is enough to constitute love?”
“Who said anything about love?” Laura exclaimed, leaning forward a little too far. Her eyes went wide as her mind caught up with her mouth and Ruth’s eyes seemed a little too gleeful at her response, but her mouth was tight with pity. Laura settled back into her chair, repeated her previous comment in a hushed tone, as if it were a secret, more for herself than to clarify to Ruth. Laura suddenly felt like she was drowning in the middle of this dingy apartment, on a Thursday, as everything started rushing in. The older lady just reached forward, her eyes more glossy than normal, and placed a weathered hand on Laura’s arm. Laura’s throat was hot and tight; each breath was a struggle. She was suddenly too warm and she stood up, tearing off her blazer. Her mug was still too hot and she gripped it with both hands, welcoming the slight discomfort. She walked over to the window, letting the wind-cooled air soak into her skin. Little ripples cascaded across the smooth top of the tea from her shaking hands. Ruth’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, as if the older lady was trying to tame a frightened doe and Laura leaned into the touch.
“I thought I had lost it all when I lost my James, but I found out the hard way that being alone in this world isn’t that bad.”
Laura shocked her own self by turning around and crushing the older lady to her chest. She shook slightly still as she tried to make herself smaller in the grasp of this comforting stranger. Ruth gently rubbed Laura’s back, swaying slightly, just like Laura’s mother did when she was sad.
She parted with an awkward laugh and Ruth smiled, wiping a stray tear that Laura didn’t even feel run down her cheek.
“Would you like some dinner, sweetheart?”
She thought about her dinner with Scott for only a brief moment before Laura nodded with a smile.
