Life in an Apartment

Every morning, as Laurence leaves for work, I wave from our living room window. We’ve lived in this six-story building for over 25 years, so the neighbors have observed this little habit of ours as they wait with schoolchildren on the sidewalk or maybe for a ride to the airport, or when they’re going out to walk the dog, or have a smoke. . .

Once when Coca visited, she stood by that window and said with a wistful voice, “Here’s where you stand to wave your husband. “

Coca lived by herself in apartment 1E. Jose, another neighbor, told me that her ashes are in her apartment. He’ll spread them in Central Park as she requested. She lived alone. She died alone. So sad.

I cleaned the apartment today – such an ordinary thing. I like to sing while I vacuum. The neighbors can hear me, just like we hear them, but during the day many of them are at work.

We’re thankful we live in a quiet building. (Nevermind that the Chinese lady above us likes to move furniture at night.) The apartment across from us is for sale. I look from my kitchen window into that one and see prospective buyers checking it out. I would like to tell them that it’s a good building, and they won’t be sorry if they buy it.

Laurence is home from his job at Elmhurst Hospital. Soon we will eat supper in our tiny kitchen with a table for two. I have bread rising to bake and take to Benn and Sundaymar’s when we go after I work at market tomorrow.

Until next time. Berniece