There have
been few happenings in my life since we moved to Houston, but those which
occurred rocked the boat. A normal day
in this 700-square-foot apartment includes minimal work from my laptop,
preparing the meals of the day, eating at least two of the three alone,
watching movies and reading books to pass the time until we retire to bed, only
to start all over again. When the lack of human contact starts to press down on
me too much, I’ve escaped for a day with my parents or with a friend on the
other side of the city. Perhaps this is why the three (mis)adventures stand out
so much.
The day after
we moved into the apartment, Sky and I turned on the heating unit to attempt to
battle the January chill. Luckily, at this time, we still had Kayley with us.
It was she that woke me up at the witch’s hour to heed nature’s call. Though
not a morning person (in the slightest), I can’t say that getting up and
walking my fuzzy companion was unpleasant. The morning was crisp and quiet.
Kayley was cheerful and curious.
When we
returned and had resettled in our beds, the peace was shattered by smoke and
loud popping sounds coming from the heater in the ceiling of our bathroom.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I considered that we’d be burned out of
our apartment before we’d even settled in. I turned off the unit and found the
fire extinguisher, settled Kayley as best I could, and placed a call to the emergency
maintenance number (getting no response).
Suffice it to
say that my Sunday morning was anything but peaceful.
We attended
church, but I was too concerned about leaving Kayley alone in a potentially flammable
apartment beyond an hour. Sky and I returned without talking to anyone so that
we could attempt getting maintenance done and make our new ‘home’ safe.
It took two
trips for the men on call to realize that we did need a new unit and to order
one. It took three days after that to order and replace the darn thing. For
those days, Kayley and I huddled beneath thick blankets together, me sipping
tea and trying to get my fingers to move and accomplish my work.
When we
finally had it all sorted, I began to imagine that we could manage here, but
Kayley’s opinion of the place was settled firmly in discontent. It only
increased as another week passed and the second ‘incident’ occurred.
Again, on a
Sunday morning, Kayley urgently requested being taken out. I’m afraid that I’d
had a bit of an allergy attack, so Sky offered to take her. Sky started his
walk with her without a problem, making the rounds and greeting another woman
out with her two hounds. But just as Sky and Kayley were returning to the
apartment, Sky heard the woman he met start shouting with some measure of
distress. Not wanting to waste time, Sky tethered Kayley to a tree below our
apartment window and ran down to offer assistance.
I awoke to
Kayley’s distressed barking. Still fuzzy with medicine, I couldn’t figure out
what was going on: where was Sky? Why was Kayley tied to a tree? I brought her
inside and waited for Sky to come back from wherever it was that he’d gone,
unease rising in me like the waves at floodtide.
When Sky did
come back, it was at a run. One of the hounds he’d encountered only minutes
before had caught a cat and severely wounded it. The owner tried to stop her
dog, but with two large beasts to control, she was unable to do more than drag
them away. Sky had left the cat in the middle of the road, unsure what to do
next. Together, we returned to the creature, armed with a rag for a bandage and
a phone to call animal control for medical care.
But by the
time we arrived, it was clear that the cat had breathed its last into the
frosty morning. It felt wrong to let the creature lie there with no loving
hands to ease its way out of the world. I wrapped the cat in the rag we’d brought,
covering the wounds and wishing that it hadn’t suffered such an unexpected
beginning of the day and end of life.
We did what
we could, informing management of the incident, and tried to return our day to
normal. But it seemed like things couldn’t completely recover. Kayley grew more
distressed and depressed. And as Sky’s work kept him later and later and as his
stress increased, he couldn’t manage Kayley’s middle-of-the-night complaints.
Moving Kayley
home to my parents’ increased the comfort of both Bug and Sky, but I’ve suffered
from the loss of my primary companionship. I suppose two out of three is a
decent achievement.
For a month
or more now, we’ve lived in our routine. Sky gets up and leaves for work before
I get up. He returns long after dinner. I fill my days with as much
productivity as I can manage on my own and prepare meals for Sky to pack and
take with him. Going out for a walk or run around the block is often the only
real exploration I have during my days. But, finally, the accounting busy
season is burning down to a few last glowing coals.
This last
Saturday, we even went out to eat with a couple from church. But as we drove
through the gate at our apartment, we saw an individual who became the catalyst
for our most recent incident.
An older man
walked into our complex, following a resident’s car. What made this man appear
out of place was not his behavior, but his attire. The man was dressed in only
white briefs. My first thought was that he’d been mugged or perhaps suffering
from dementia. Now, I only regret that I didn’t think more of this man and call
someone about him.
We had a
lovely time at dinner with our new friends. The restaurant served delicious
food, but honestly, it was the companionship and conversation that I feasted
on. I’ve yet to find a kindred spirit or girls’ night companion here, so even
this simple outing was a wonderful reprieve. When we returned home, all thought
of the confused man had escaped me.
Then we saw
the glass. Our neighbor, downstairs and to the right, had a shattered window;
the fragments littered the walk. Sky and I both went closer to investigate.
Though the window was destroyed, the blinds were still intact, so we knew that
the dark apartment hadn’t been broken into.
And there was a notice from the
police indicating their involvement.
Seeing
nothing we could do, we went up to our apartment and started a movie. Glancing
out my window, I then noticed more glass in the street across from our
building. The large windows from an upstairs apartment opposite ours had been
broken, and a large pile of belongings were gathered at the foot of the damage.
Now, more
than a little concerned, Sky followed me out to look closer. As we surveyed the
damage, two men looked out the empty window frame at us.
It seems that
after we’d left the complex for dinner, the man in his undies had attempted to
gain entrance to three apartments. The first two, he simple smashed the window
and moved on, yelling that “they” were after him and would kill him. The final
apartment was home to a couple. The boyfriend had just stepped out to go to the
store, and when the older guy had climbed the stairs to the apartment and
banged on the door, the woman had opened it enough for the guy to force his way
in.
Somehow, he
locked the door, took away the woman’s cell phone when she tried to call the
police, and began to destroy and abuse the contents of the apartment. The poor
woman was scared by this assault, and her only escape was out to the balcony.
She leapt—incurring several fractures—and was soon taken to the hospital by ambulance.
The man, still inside her apartment, proceeded to throw belongings out the back
window.
After
multiple calls, the police arrived. It took several officers to bring the man
down and restrain him. The boyfriend returned in time to witness this final
scuffle.
Sky and I spent
the rest of our evening sweeping up glass, trying to get a hold of our
downstairs neighbor to let her know what had happened, and communicating with
maintenance to cover the shattered windows.
In the
process of damage control, we met and spoke with 7 neighbors, most of whom we’d
never even seen before. And while I appreciate the people who did step out of
their rabbit-hutch apartments, I can’t help but wonder: where was everyone
else? In each of our interactions, Sky and I were the catalysts. We initiated
help and communication. We initiated service. And a few responded. Where were
the others?
Perhaps this
is the culture of millennials or the people of Houston. Perhaps this is normal
anywhere. But if it is, I want no part of it. I want to belong to a community
that cares and helps and uplifts. I want a neighborhood watch and the man
across the street who yells, “Car!” so that kids playing outside know to stay
out of danger. I want to knock on a neighbor’s door to borrow a cup of sugar
and be invited in for a chat.
Where is that
community? I know I’m not alone in wanting it! I know I wasn’t the only one
raised to pitch in.
Anyway, these
have been the experiences shaping our current residence. They bring relief from
monotony and increased stress in isolation. And despite it all, we are still
where we need to be. We are resilient, and Sky has a good job (in walking
distance), so here we stay. Perhaps, in time, we can find a way to build a
small, caring neighborhood here. Maybe Captain Underpants has actually blessed
us with a reason to know our neighbors and pitch in.
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