text: I Live in an Apartment I’ve Only Had One Person at a Time Someday the hair on your head becomes gray and your face shows every memory you’ve made: the grin you couldn’t wipe on your wedding day, the despair of losing your mother, the overwhelming relief hearing the news that you’ve beaten cancer. Years fly by and your heart is filled with all of your life’s experiences. Some people grow old with their loved ones and pass before they are alone. Some people spend their last days with their children and grandchildren. Some remarry. Some go to old people's homes. Not me, though. I live in an apartment. After high school, I left my rural home in the mountains of Arizona. That was a hard day. My mother cried. I cried too. We had spent 18 years together in our trailer home. We used to go to the only ice cream parlor in town every Saturday and share a vanilla sundae. So that we did. We picked at it in silence, taking small bites to make our time together last a bit longer. I’d never seen her cry until then. The ice cream didn’t taste as good that day. A week after I left, my mother took her own life. It was lonely for the first few months in the big city. I still wasn’t used to the skyscrapers and sound of airplanes flying overhead. The night was filled with the wails of ambulances and cars blasting music on the radio. An older man, Mr. Manley, whom I had known from my small town, let me rent out one of his bedrooms. He lived in a duplex. That area of the city was a bit rough, but I didn’t know better. This was luxury to me. My savings didn’t last that long and it was time for a job. Mr. Manley was kind enough to let me do yard work for a month while I tried to pick something up. Eventually, I got a job as a barback at Free Spirits, a hippy pub nearby. The 70s loved that place. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this job would become my career. Over the years, I worked my way up the chain. I became the senior bartender by the time I was 22. Michael, the young bar manager, was my best friend. I’d never had a brother, but Michael was my brother. Mr. Manley started to show signs of dementia. He left the oven on one night, nearly burning down the entire duplex. Luckily, only the stove and cabinets around were devastated. He did this three more times, but I learned after the first time to check the oven every night or before leaving the house. Even though I was scared for him, I took care of Mr. Manley. I started cleaning up after him, made sure he got dressed every morning, and ate three meals a day, but dementia is a ruthless and unforgiving disease. Very soon after his diagnosis, he couldn’t remember my name. Then he forgot who I was altogether. I didn’t know much of Mr. Manley’s family, so reaching out to anyone was a dead end and he was a bachelor for the entire time I knew him. I consulted with Michael on what to do and we came to the decision to put him in a home. We didn’t have the money for a personal caretaker. We dropped of Mr. Manley and I visited him every Saturday with a vanilla sundae in hand. Now it was just Michael and I. Michael had a similar past to mine; an only child who left home for the big city. When we weren’t working at the bar, we were there as patrons. Free Spirits was our home aside from the apartment we were sharing together. This was the first apartment I lived in and we were living the dream. On one of our rendezvous nights at the bar, we met a pair of fine women. Cheryl, with flowing blonde hair and ocean blue eyes, and Mandy with curly autumn hair and hazel eyes. How lucky were we? Extremely lucky. I was married to Cheryl in three years time. Michael married Mandy just a few months after us. Michael and Mandy left the city a couple years later. **Cheryl** Cheryl was everything to me. Every Saturday she joined me in visiting Mr. Manley with his vanilla sundae. It felt like she knew him the same way I did. She would take his compliment of her eyes every time we went and she sounded as genuinely grateful for it just as the first time she came with me. Her beautiful eyes never changed, even with age. There came a day where we would have to say goodbye to Mr. Manley. Cheryl and I were the only two at the funeral. We attended in silence and I felt the way I had on the day I left my mother. Silent sadness sometimes sits heavier. She hugged me afterwards. We didn’t share words, but we knew each other’s grief. Cheryl knew how to comfort me. We bought our first house together in a nice little suburb of the city. I bought Free Spirits from the owner. Cheryl and I were as happy as could be. We would play with the idea of starting a family and so by our late twenties we started trying. We had little fortune. Cheryl had gotten pregnant three times, but miscarried each. We learned that we wouldn’t be able to have children. Cheryl didn’t cry when the doctor gave her the news, but she became very quiet. We drove home in silence. I held her hand. I knew how to comfort Cheryl. Her weak, midnight sobs tore my heart to pieces. This wouldn’t be the only obstacle we would have to overcome together. When I was forty-seven, I was diagnosed with stage 2 lung cancer. This came with only minimal surprise because smoking in bars in my days was very common. I smoked every time I was there. Cheryl was inconsolable at the doctor’s appointment. Seeing the sky in her eyes be clouded with a rainstorm of tears made me quit. I never touched a cigarette after that. Back then, aggressive chemotherapy was the only regimen for any form of cancer. I endured eight months of it and finally showed cancer-free on that last scan. We celebrated with a vanilla sundae. I think the actual medicine that cured me was Cheryl. Sure the chemo probably did something, but she was the only thing I needed to live for. My sweet Cheryl. All good things must come to an end. Cheryl was a good thing that came to an end. We were together for fifty years. Fate took my beloved in her sleep at seventy-five years old. **Pretty Boy** Here I am, six years later. I live in an apartment. The city has changed since I moved here. My place is in a fancy commercialized part of the city. My one-bedroom flat on the second floor faces inwardly to a pool area. The way the apartment is set up is that each residence has a balcony that faces the center pool area and each has a large window that shows into the living areas. It’s like a big rectangle with a pool in the middle. I’ve spent every evening enjoying a nice beer on my balcony. Most nights, I find myself focusing on the apartment across the way from me. Several people have lived there by now: a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties who was very promiscuous having numerous men over every week, a young couple with a golden retriever who always kept their blinds down, an older gentleman like me who must’ve passed because he was replaced months after moving in by a young man. This young man stood out to me. He never put his blinds down. So every evening I poured my beer and set up shop on the balcony to observe him. His place was decorated smartly for someone his age. He had modernized furniture and kept everything very clean. The only time I ever saw it messy was after his nightly cooking/karaoke sessions or his sprawled out suitcase when coming back from a trip. He was very handsome and closely reminded me of myself when I was his age. I called him Pretty Boy. He didn’t leave his apartment often. I could tell by the way he spent hours on his computer and how he stood up with angry gestures on the phone that he must’ve been some kind of work-from-home businessman. He would occasionally have friends over, but never women. I began to recognize his friends. He had two that would frequent often. One with curly hair and the other with a thin, lanky stature. Those were the nicknames I gave them: Curly and Thin. Curly and Thin were there every weekend. The three of them would drunkenly stumble in every Friday night and head to the balcony for cigars. This pattern went on for around a year. No women, just Curly and Thin every weekend. However, things changed recently. Routinely, I was on the balcony on a Friday night waiting for Pretty Boy, Curly, and Thin to trip over themselves trying to get through the doorway. Pretty Boy headed in first and was oddly composed followed by Thin. To my surprise, Curly had been replaced with two young ladies both with long, blonde hair. One was a bit larger than the other. Nonetheless, I was stunned to behold what was happening. Pretty Boy had never had a woman over before, let alone two. I watched in amazement as the girls took a seat that the kitchen bar and the boys stood across. The larger girl was much more talkative than the smaller one, but everyone seemed to be getting along. They moved from the bar to the sofa and socialized for hours. I watched the two girls leave the apartment and Pretty Boy walked them down. Thin slumped over on the couch and dozed off. Minutes later, Pretty Boy reentered with the smaller blonde alongside him. He woke Thin from his slumber and gestured for him to leave. For the first time that night, I saw the small blonde light up with animation as she spoke with Pretty Boy. Pretty Boy was all smiles and was finding subtle ways to get closer to the girl. I couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. He was doing the same things I did when I first met Cheryl. I would pretend I needed to grab something just so I could stand up and then sit a little closer to her the next time I sat down. I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I saw the girl. **Amber** As foretold, the small blonde made her way over to the apartment every day for a week after their first encounter. I sat on my balcony and witnessed their blossoming relationship. Pretty boy always had a new wine for her to try and a new song for her to listen to. They cooked together, played cards together, and ended their nights with a drink for her and a cigar for him on the balcony. She always spoke loudly. I loved it because I got to hear details instead of watching them. Pretty boy was obviously embarrassed by her loud talking and often shushed her, reminding her that there are neighbors, but this is how I learned their names: James and Amber. After Amber spent an entire week with James, she disappeared for a bit. I became worried after not seeing her for two weeks. That was until James was on the balcony on a phone call. I heard him say things like, “Three hours isn't that long for a drive!” and “I’m already looking at cabins. I’ll see you tomorrow, Amber.” James was gone for the next three days, but when he came back, he sprawled out his suitcase and had two pinecones that he sat on his windowsill. Amber was there the next two weekends and brought a new pinecone each time. James now had a small collection of them and a big heart for Amber. Watching the love unfold filled a void in me. Amber returned full-time after her time in the mountains. She was at the apartment almost everyday. I’d watch them make breakfast together, or more accurately, I’d watch James make breakfast while Amber danced around him trying to get him to join in. He’d brush her off with a grin on his face, which only made her try harder. I could tell she was a kind soul. She would stay while he worked and fold his laundry or pick up around the place. He would swivel his chair around and gesture for her to sit on his lap. They walked through the door hand-in-hand, got dressed up for date nights, and had endless cinema nights. I saw Amber cook there only once. She made a sort of steamed roll. James took one bite out of it and gave a big thumbs up with a full mouth. Only I saw him take the bits out of his mouth and throw them away. He gave her a big kiss on the cheek afterwards to which she happily swung around and gave him an even bigger kiss, delighted that he liked her cooking. Months flew by and two were blatantly in love. But love sometimes doesn’t last. **All Good Things Must Come to an End** I started to see Amber less and less. When she would appear, she came with a backpack and several textbooks in her arms to which she would set on the counter and start taking notes. It was around the time the local college started back up, so I assumed she was enrolled. James would try to be near while she studied, but she shooed him off and buried her face in her hands. I only saw Amber about once a week at this time and each time she was flustered with schoolwork and often changed into a work uniform and left James’ apartment shortly after. James started smoking cigars on the balcony every night accompanied by several beers. He would gaze at the city-polluted sky with a solemn look on his face. This continued for a month. Then there was a week that I didn’t see Amber at all. That week I sat out every night hoping to see Amber walk in and return to being the happy couple they were, but that’s not how things go. That Friday, James drunkenly swung open his front door. Behind him followed a slim brunette who definitely was not Amber. My heart sank. The two wobbled to the couch and indulged in each other. I couldn’t bear to watch. For the first time since I moved into my apartment, I had my beer inside that night. When I finally did see Amber again, it was late in the evening on a weekday. This was out of the norm because the last few times I saw her it was only on weekends. Amber walked in with James and gestured to the balcony. She wasn’t loud that night. They had quiet conversation for quite some time. Then they sat in silence. Amber held her knees to her chest and James reached his hand over to hold hers. He knew how to comfort her. She could only hold his hand for a moment before she erupted in tears. Amber sobbed into her hands and then stood up saying she had to leave because she had assignments to get done. It was hard to hear what she was saying in between her weeps. James stood with and pulled her into a hug which made her cry even harder. Amber was still inconsolable as she walked through the door. James tried to accompany her on her way out, but she shook her head no. James stood at the door for what seemed like eons before making his way to the sofa. He crumbled into his palms and cried the way I did when I lost Cheryl. His sadness turned to anger and by the end of the night, every decor item, table, wall, and the pinecones that filled his windowsill were smashed to pieces. I think I was hoping to relive the love I had with Cheryl vicariously through Amber and James, but I’m only filled with sorrow. All good things must come to an end. Remember this. I have lost everything and everyone I’ve loved. You grow old and you ache to be returned to the ground that bore you. You may see ecstasy in life and do things you’ll never regret, but the daunting end is always waiting for you. Now, I live in an apartment, yearning for the other side of life.