Sunday, July 31, 2005

Family in my building

There was just a knock at my door, which freaked me out. I don’t expect knocks on my door in the middle of the night if I’m not expecting anyone. Add to that I am wearing grubby “I am sick” clothes, a knock in the middle of the night sends me into a panic mode. I’m not so worried about someone raping and killing me as I am about his thinking I am a crazy cat lady shut in. I peer in the peep hole and the guy looks harmless. I open the door and he launches into his story. “I fixed someone’s computer on this floor and I don’t remember what apartment it was.” He looks over his shoulder and whispers, “They were a transvestite.” I was immediately able to direct him to the right apartment. I’m not sure what it is about there always being transvestites in my building. In the eight years that I have lived here there have been three. Then again given the geographic location of my building, I’m surprised that there haven’t been more. The one that sticks out in my mind the most was an amputee. A transvestite amputee. She had some great boas. I think she was compensating for not being able to wear shoes. The transvestite that lives in my building now shares a studio apartment with an older couple that I assume are her parents. They don’t speak any English. The father sits out on the front steps chain smoking and always says “Hola” when I walk by. He has sad eyes. When I see the mother she says “Hey!” and mumbles something else that I can’t understand. I caught her once digging in my trash that I left outside my door the night before. She has had a few freak-out moments outside the building crying and ranting, the rest of her family trying to calm her down. I don’t know how they manage in a studio apartment, the three of them.


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