Don't Forget to Write

Awaiting my Rescue

On the top floor, the only two apartments were mine and the young actor across the way who had the steam pouring out of his apartment this morning. The sounds of doors opening and closing and the footsteps of people in the building echoed up the stairs. I tried to match the footsteps to the person in the building they might belong to. There were the fast, light steps of a child. And here were the slow, sliding, deliberate steps of the older African woman. I knew her steps well. She dressed like an African Queen every day, with bright robes and headpieces, she radiated beauty and wisdom, but with that age came her struggle to walk up the stairs. So she would take them one at a time, sliding her heavy foot onto each marble step. Then there were the slow, heavy, distracted steps of people in their twenties and thirties either staring at their phone or flipping through their mail as they walked up the stairs. Then, after a long while, I heard three pairs of steps, all moving at a quick pace, and talking to each other as they moved. They were all roughly the same weight of step and the same speed, and the conversation was friendly, so they must all have been the same age. I was wondering who they were as they got closer and closer until they were walking up the last flight of stairs. Perhaps they were friends of my neighbor across the hall? But then they rounded the stairs, and I saw Bruno, with Diane and, of course, Camila.

They all stopped on the stairs and gawked at me. Camila and Diane were both wearing their costumes, the typical girl costume of being "a cat". Which meant they had pointed ears, a painted black nose, and a skimpy black dress. Typical. Bruno wasn't wearing his costume yet.

"Oh, hey guys."

"Peter?" Bruno said. "Why do you look like a troll? And why aren't you wearing shoes? Or socks.? And... are you wet?"

"It's a long story, but first can we get into the apartment?"

Bruno opened the door, I went directly into my bedroom while they all went into the living room. Wool socks, a long sleeve shirt, the thickest sweater I owned, and long, warm, sweat pants thawed out my chattering body. The steam heating system made it so that our apartment at the top floor was the hottest one. It must have been close to 70 degrees. I walked into the living room all bundled up just as everybody else had stripped off their layers. Camila was wearing jeans and a black tank top. Simple but sexy. They were all sitting on the futon, and I told them my struggle of a journey today, making light of the situation enough for them to laugh the whole time.

"You are an idiot," Bruno said. "Give me your phone." He went to the kitchen and poured out a bowl of dry rice and put my phone in it. "This will absorb all of the water, maybe by tomorrow you will have a working phone again."

"I hope so. I can't really afford a phone right now."

"Don't I know it," Bruno said.

"So, what are you all doing here?"

"Remember that pregame I was telling you about?" Bruno said, giving me a look and not-so-discretely gesturing his head towards the girls. "They came for the pregame."

"Oh, well then we are going to need more booze.

"We'll get the booze," Camila said, tapping Diane, "I saw a liquor store on the way. You, mister," she said, pointing to my chest, "need to get cleaned up."

"Right."

"You drink whiskey, right?" Camila asked.

"Almost exclusively."

When the apartment door closed behind them I turned to Bruno. "You didn't tell me they were coming!"

"Actually, I did. I sent you a couple of texts, but obviously you couldn't see them. Moose, Karen, and a couple of other people are coming too. What's the matter Petey-boy? You nervous?"

"No."

"Aw yeah, you are. Poor little Peter doesn't know how to talk to girls."

"I know how to talk to girls just fine."

"Eh, I've seen your game. It needs some work. But just know this; she likes you. A lot. You don't even have to worry. All you need to do, is not fuck it up."

"Thanks, pal, that's encouraging."

"I thought so. Now, go shower. You smell worse than the city streets. How do you expect to impress Camila with such a rancid odor?" He jested. I was already on my way to the bathroom, rolling my eyes and rubbing my scar.