One day someone jumps off the roof and the next day, yesterday, or the before day, he also tries cutting his wrists. You’ll never get me in any hospital. Not once if I can avoid it, even if it’s only to see a best friend or use their toilet. Because why go there? He goes there, right, and for one thing and gets another thing which leads to an even more complicated thing which gets so awful he’s got to kill himself, and now God knows what that will lead to. At least that’s what the article said. Mr. Jay from upstairs. Nice man, right? Used to sit in front of the house all day on the nice days when his wife got the energy up to walk him down. In the wheelchair, with first those clumps of the chair on the stairs past our landing and then when she got it all arranged outside with his newspapers, glasses, tissues and books, their little steps of her leading her husband down two more flights. And always a nice good nod and hello from him, and no matter how warm it was outside, in a coat. And never any unkind words from him either, if never almost ever a word. But always a smile. Bright and big in greeting and his little hands waving his fingers, and then this. All out of the blue. You go and begin and explain it. I was so shocked. I’m always shocked when I read or see on TV about people I know. Last time was that one who was what was that kid’s name who got killed, I mean jailed, for riding more than a hundred in a twenty-mile zone? Driving around happily down this street we saw him in his stolen car one minute and next thing we see is him on all the local stations on the early and late evening news shows. Oh how I hated that wise-ass kid. Always did. Even when he was a kid. Always with the smirky wise look like he wanted to poke out your pupils in your eyes. Big kid he always was also, but they cut him to size. Two years it was he got, in a place to make us feel safer and him a better member of the human race. But outside of those two I can’t think there was even an article or news film of anyone else we knew than ourselves with our own names in the newspaper lottery list when we were up for the million with several thousand others, but got five hundred instead. That should happen again. Oh, what a day at work. And my head cold’s shifting to my chest and those unknown limb pains are back, so maybe what I need before dinner are aspirins and two glasses of your fresh orange juice first. And what do you say this weekend if he’s alive we go see him and bring a little gift? Say sourballs or those baby pastries, because no matter how I hate those places I still think his being our neighbor these amount years it’d only be right.
Next door’s a man dying from too many cigarettes. On the other side of me to the left’s a lady who doesn’t know she’s having half her insides taken out tomorrow at eight. Across the hall’s a boy who’s spent the past year in a coma and every other hour on the hour only cries mummy mum mum. Next to him on one or the other sides’ a man who tries suicide and I overheard his wife say in the hallway still has to lose his leg. In the next room to his is a woman who no specialist knows what’s the matter with other than for her losing weight at an unbelievable speed. Can’t eat. Next she can’t even speak. Down to seventy pounds for a hefty frame and they don’t think she’ll last the week. Positively no visitors allowed it says on her door. I feel so ridiculous being on this floor. With only a couple of benign polyps to be removed and a little fright, though I might catch something worse from being around all these sorrowful people and horrible news. Is it at all possible to get my room switched to a less sickly floor?
Hello, dad. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Listen, don’t try and speak. Even if you can. They say you can hear. Can you hear? You can let me know by smiling a lot at what I say. Not that anything I’ll say is funny, but I love seeing your smile. My favorite father. You’re looking real well. I would’ve been here sooner but the weather in our country’s been so bad the planes couldn’t go. When they did and the kids and I got here, your airport was on strike so we had to land three hundred miles out of the way and bus in here slowly overnight because it snowed. Then I heard what happened to you. But let’s forget about going into that. My husband Lanny sends his best and says he wishes he could’ve also flown here, and the kids heir love. They’re right downstairs, and after all this traveling by trains, planes, buses, cabs and subways and now only an elevator ride away, it’s frustrating for them not to be let up, and unfair. The youngest I wanted to sneak in here under my coat, as he’s never seen you, but if they saw him they might not let me see you again. You’re their one grandpa and what they know of you is only from what I tell them and old snapshots. I don’t know — but am I speaking too much or too fast? Just relax. But nod if you want me to slow down or shut up. I was saying that I don’t know if you knew that Lanny’s folks died in a car crash together when he was a boy. He was in it too but thrown into some soft bushes so somehow survived. Though he did get a broken neck at the time which he still gets headaches from when he stretches too far. The neck too far. Don’t try it again. All right. There it is. Off my chest. But please don’t make me. I mean please don’t, please make me a silent promise and to yourself you won’t ever try it again. I’ve got to know before I go. It’ll also be a stigma for the kids later on. Worse than anything it’ll kill mom for sure. And you and Jay Junior never got along too well, but you should see how he feels about you now. He’s even postponed going back to his children and job and the new girl he’s going to marry, so if for anything get out of here quick for another wedding. And when mom’s here we often get calls at home from all over from people who are concerned about you. Relatives, friends, and don’t worry about the leg. Whatever happens you’ll still always have your good heart and head and your life. Think of new interests you can develop you never had. Music. And if I was in your position I’d read more and draw. I’d draw the doctors and nurses and how I feel about them and what I see in the room and aides and also my leg. And also my face in the mirror, looking like how I felt about myself in such a state. And in the background I’d get the pills and food and needles and curtains and even this blue urinal here. I’d make a study of it, in fact. A whole portrait devoted to it and whatever else is on the table at the time. I’d draw it all. I’d use my ambition, which you always had plenty of for that, and believe me anybody can draw. You’re smiling. Is it what I’m saying’s so funny or do you agree? Anyway, good. And get out. Your body’s still strong. Your internist only wishes he’d be as healthy as you at your age other than for the other things and says they’ll have to both run you over and then beat you to death to finally get you to go. To go from life he meant. And don’t give mom any more pain. Consent to whatever the doctors say. Then everything will be all right. You’ll be all right. We’re not leaving from mom’s till I’m absolutely sure you’re all right. I’m going out for a smoke now so you get some rest. And don’t pinch, oh, just sleep, just rest.