Your Own Disaster

I've heard this proverb that "no man is an island". Basically that means that no one person in this world can live completely in isolation. But my tenth grade social studies teacher once gave our class "Three Definitions of an Educated Person" and one of them was "you can stand to be alone". So this leaves me questioning the truth. Is it true that if you're well educated, you can be by yourself, or is it true that no one can exist alone, without someone there to hold you up, to tell you what's right from wrong? All this really makes me think that these words were created to teach children that if you're important enough, anything you say is instantly proverbial and wise, no matter how stupid it may be. I've been by myself for the past six years, but when you think about it, I've been alone my whole life...

***

I like Sundays. They scarcely involve leaving my apartment, and only sometimes even involve getting out of bed, with the exception of getting ice cream out of the freezer. This Sunday morning I was awoken much too early (probably close to like...nine) by the sun shining through my window which I'd forgotten to close the curtains on. I got up and as soon as I did, realized I had to pee. So I did that and was grumbling about being woken up at nine, and being hungry as I opened my fridge. I raised my eyebrows and closed the door, going for the freezer. The eyebrows went higher still. I searched my cabinets and then had to think about when was the last time I went food shopping.

"Ah fuck," I mumbled, walking back into my room. This obviously required going to the store. A ten block walk. I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, but then realized it's late spring. I pulled off the sweatshirt and opted instead for a blue tank top. I slid into sandals and checked my wallet. I could afford some food necessities. I pocketed my wallet and walked out the door. A few blocks away from my building, the sunshine and warmth radiating from the sky and sidewalk started to get me in that almost happy mood. Some little kinds from some other buildings were outside playing and I could hear them screaming and laughing, and there were women watering plants, and men taking out the trash, etcetera. I figured I'd take the long way to the store and pass by Mrs. Jessups' house on the way to check on her. I found her sitting on her front porch in a rocking chair. Mrs. Jessups is an old black woman (probably seventy something) who lives maybe three blocks from me in her own little house. She's a bit sickly, she can't walk much and she coughs a lot but she's nice. Her husband Robert died a few years ago, so no one is around to take care of her, but she found a woman (maybe in her twenties) named Sandy who comes to her on the weekdays and helps her around the house. She and her husband came here from Louisiana fifty something years ago, and she still has a heavy southern accent, and what I assume is some kind of southern hospitality.

"Morning Mrs. Jessups," I said, stopping by her front gate.

"Oh good mornin' Ms. Kath'rine," she said, eyes lighting up when she heard a voice.

"How are we this morning, maim?" I asked, trying to make my voice sound happy because she doesn't see well.

"Well I'm just swell darling, but I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment..." she started, I opened the gate and walked up her porch, taking her extended arm. I helped her stand up and guided her inside.

"Where'd you like to be Mrs. Jessups?" I asked.

"Oh, at the kitchen table dearie is fine." I set her down in a chair by the table. "Thank you child, could you pour me a glass of lemonade? There's a fresh pitcher in the refrigerator." I nodded and got a glass out of the cabinet, filling it. I set it down on the table and watched her as she lifted it slowly to her lips and drank. "You should have a drink too darlin', there's plenty for ya."

"Oh no maim I'm fine. I'm off to the store so..."

"Oh, alright child, I'll trouble ya no longer, have a nice day, sweetie."

"You too Mrs. Jessups."

I walked out her front door and continued off down the sidewalk. I do like helping Mrs. Jessup's out when Sandy can't come on the weekends. God save Sandy; she's got three or four kids, she's a single mother, but she sends her kids to daycare on the weekdays and earns her money helping the old woman. She can't afford a nanny for the weekends, so she can't work then. But god bless her. I've met her youngest child Ariel and she's such a sweetie. I think she's...six and she's a freaking genius. I love kids. I'm actually thinking of adopting one myself. I know, doesn't seem like me, but I'm thinking about it. I just love little kids for some reason. They're so sweet, with this perfect level of innocence, and from what I've seen, the ability to just see truth and reality in the world that no one else sees...especially not adults...why can't we all stay children?

***

Ten thirty. After I bought my groceries I went right home, took a shower and stayed in bed for the rest of the day. Ten thirty PM and I'm watching some obscure Spanish soap opera on channel 18793456 or something. I don't speak Spanish. I yawned and shut off the TV, dropping the jumbo bag of Lay's potato chips on the floor. I pressed the switch on my lamp and closed my eyes against the sudden darkness that hurt my eyes as my pupils expanded, searching for sight. I rolled over and pressed my face in my pillow.

An hour or...(a glance at the clock) four of tossing, turning, moaning and yawning left me unable to sleep. The problem with me staying in bed all day is that I'm so well rested that I can't sleep. I looked at the clock and saw three forty seven AM. I sighed loudly and put my feet on the floor. I decided to go for a walk. I pulled on jogging pants and a baggy t-shirt. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and started looking for my sneakers. Found them in the closet and shoved my keys into my pocket. I took the stairs, versus the elevator; keeping my fist clenched should I run into someone unpleasant in the shadows of the stairwell. Lucky me, all I saw were spiders and the occasional rat...which scare the fuck out of me anyway.

Outside, it was much cooler than it was at nine thirty this morning, and I was regretting my baggy t-shirt as goose bumps popped up on my arms and neck. I shivered along, deciding to walk three blocks around then go home. I walked quickly at first, but then slowed my pace as my body adjusted to suit the temperature, and I kind of dragged my feet a bit, letting my fingers bump against the poles of wrought iron fences in front of different apartment buildings. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, keeping sure to step on each and every crack. My lips pushed forth a humming tune I didn't recognize, just improvised as I walked along. Queens was different in the dark than I expected it to be. Six years here and I still kind of feared it, even though I'd never had a reason to. I expected it to be filled with homeless guys and murders, but I seemed to be the only one around. Then I heard it; a long, phlegmy, raking, aching, lungs choked by black smoke cough that I only knew from one place: Gerard and his cigarettes. I crossed the street so I was as far away from the sound as humanly possible, but my curiosity forced me to walk towards where I'd heard it coming from. I dug my numb hands into my pockets and walked a little faster as a figure turned the corner. My stomach plummeted as I saw the figure was limping, and appeared to be carrying another person, a small one too. My face went red and I tried to keep my eyes down, but I saw the person's shadow in the street. I decided it was male, from the deep sound that came out whenever he breathed. He coughed again; he sounded really sick, and I heard the smaller person moan. I stopped in my tracks as the moan registered in my mind of being that of a little girl's. I took a deep breath and faced the man.

"Are you two okay Mister?" I asked. His head snapped up and whipped around towards me quickly. His eyes were wide with the greatest combination of horror, malice, and sickness that I'd ever seen. Or maybe the horror was just me, I didn?t know and didn?t care at that moment, because I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. I walked into the middle of the street and he just stood there, shaking and breathing, breathing and coughing, coughing and shaking.

"Holy shit," I said. I walked quickly over to him and guided him over to a streetlight so I could see him better. My eyes widened further (if that was possible) as I saw the state he was in. His clothing was black in all the wrong places, and there were holes that looked like they'd been burned off. His face had soot stains and there was ash in his hair. He was carefully looking at anything but me as I realized why he looked the way he did. "What happened?" I asked. He stayed silent at first and that gave me time to examine the girl. She was covered in more ash and soot than he was, but she was beautiful. I pegged her at maybe six years old, possibly younger. She had long dark hair that right now was a rat's next of tangles, but it was still shiny to show proof of years of meticulous care. Her skin was pale and was perfect like a porcelain doll, not a blemish or cut or mark in sight. Her cheeks were hollow and her frame was tiny, no fat on her bones to speak off to the point that she almost looked sick.

"Is she alright?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I couldn't wake her up," he said hoarsely. My breath caught in my throat at the sound of his voice...so familiar...

"Are...are you okay?" I asked. He stayed silent, but then nodded very slowly. "Are you gonna tell me what happened sir?" I asked.

"There was a fire. In my apartment. I don't know how it happened, I just woke up breathing smoke and I got the fuck out." he croaked. His words were very spaced out, like he couldn't remember how to say them, or just didn't want to remember. My brain was reeling trying to figure out who this guy was. Why was he wandering the street with this girl? Didn't he have anywhere to go?

"Well, where you planning on going? Do you have anyone..."

"Not anymore," he said. I definitely heard tears in that one. He looked at my face, but then quickly turned his head away from me, almost in shame. I moved to his side to see his face, but almost feel backwards, trying to stop from screaming. His eyes got wide too.

"No...N...Gerard?" I stumbled over my own tongue in my attempt to speak. He shook his head, but something that almost looked like a smile crossed his face.

"What did you do to your hair?" he asked. Oh wow. See, last time I saw him I had long long long dark brown hair, but over the years, just for boredom purposes, I cut it up to my shoulders and died parts of it red and parts of it blonde. Every now and then my bangs would mysteriously turn blue as well.

"You never were one to take this shit seriously were you?" I asked, walking back over to him. He shrugged, then winced.

"Hold on, I gotta put her down," he said, nodding at the girl in his arms. He looked around, then put her down on the back of a parked car. Her head turned a few times and her hands pulled against her body for warmth, but she didn't wake up. I watched her for a minute in silence as he moved her hair out of her eyes and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He put his hands on the edge of the car and it looked like he was using it as a brace to stretch. I walked over to him and kept staring at the girl.

"Whose is she?" I asked.

"Mine," he said.

"I figured that much. She looks just like you..."

"Thank you." He stood up straight again, but looked at me instead of his daughter.

"Whose the mother?"

"Do I really need to answer that?"

"Is she Sara's?"

"Yes."

"Well where is she?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." His voice got hard and cold with his last words, and I tore my gaze away from the girl to look at his face. He was looking at the sidewalk right behind me, lips tight together, eyes like stone.

"O...kay then," I said. "Do you...where were you planning on going?" he shook his head.

"Somewhere where I could breathe without coughing. I just had to get her out." He rested his hand on her forehead. "She's cold," he said, sounding really really worried.

"She probably inhaled a lot of smoke."

"What am I gonna do?" he asked, sounding almost frantic now. I felt so terrible, horrible, I didn't know what to do either. But then my heart took over somehow.

"I live about three blocks over," I said. He paused.

"Do you now..." I nodded. "So you've been here all this time?"

"I moved here after I left the tour. Couldn't stand Newark anymore. Not with you there."

"Oh that hurts."

"Does it?"

"Oh...Katherine come on..."

"Come on what Gerard you fucking destroyed me."

"I..."

"Just shut up. You guys can stay with me. Pick her up." He nodded and slowly lifted the girl off the car, following me as fast as he could. The only reason I was letting him was because I felt so bad about his daughter. It didn't matter if she was Sara's daughter, she was still just a freezing sick little girl. We got to my building and took the elevator to the fifth floor. I unlocked 5C and we walked inside. It was warm and I heard Gerard shiver as his body got used to the temperature change. I led him down the hallway and into the smallest bedroom. I pulled an air mattress out of the closet and inflated it. I pulled a sheet, pillow, and blanket out of the closet too and covered the bed.

"She can sleep here," I said, motioning towards the bed. He nodded and kneeled down on the bed. He placed her down slowly and crawled into the bed next to her, wrapping a protective arm around her body. "There's another room..." I pointed down the hallway.

"I'm going to stay with her in case she wakes up," he said.

"Fine," I said. I closed the door and walked away.