To Build Better Lives

Today is the day I say goodbye. When others look upon this old decrepit building, they see another failed piece of real estate. A blemish on a shining community. And sure, there have been many unfortunate incidents that may have occurred here. But these apartments were a home for the lost. For the vagrants and the forgotten. It was a home for people like me.

There’s a crowd gathering. All wanting to gawk at the live demolition and murmur about what could take up the lot. Rumors swirl about new property managing firms, local businesses, and even a Wa-Mart Supercenter coming to town. It’s a small enough town that anything new would be exciting. These people flock to the new because they’re ashamed of the past. What they don’t know is that I’m a part of that past. I lived in room 26. Second floor in the back. One floor above me and one floor below. Perfect to hear all goings on. The abusive couples, the old woman who loves to reminisce on her old country days while square dancing, and don’t get me started on the couples that were a bit too loud in their overnight activities. I had my share of it too of course. An ex who would scream at me as soon as I came home. I knew everyone could hear the names she called me. They would listen intently to the sound of plates smashing against the walls. Not a single one of them would dare interrupt the show with a concerned knock or even a call to the police. The only time a cop took her away was when she ran into the middle of the street, screaming her lungs out, waking up everyone who had work early the next morning. I’d have friends over and if we had a bit too much to drink we’d find ourselves yelling at the Patriots for playing a shitty game. God help Parker, who for some reason, held no shame in his adoration of the New York Jets. Just a bit more liquor in our system and a fight would break out. No cops for that incident though. Either too many incidents and too little men on duty or the neighbors were already passed out in a pool of their own spirits. The people in this community lived happy lives outside of this building. They had jobs, freshly cut lawns, beautiful partners and children. Not us.

As I look among the windows, or what remains of them from my stance in this crowd, I remember all the times I’d look out upon the street. Seeing the lower class that belong to this building walking the grocery cart they “borrowed” from the local market, filled with Great Value products and cups of ramen. I couldn’t judge them if I wanted to. I was lucky to have a car, even if the gas prices were so outrageous I would find myself picking my battles on what trips were worth the gas. I’d watch every single person here struggle. I’d see people who could barely afford the rent, spend their extra money on the weekly lottery ticket. It was a common ground that a lot of my neighbors could find each other on. We all want to be rich. We all want better lives. And to see the looks and pointed fingers my neighbors got when they had to take their meager belongings out of their homes, filled me with an anger that threatened to spill out. These people like to come together and talk about how they’re all one community and how they would come together in times of need. How they would help one another. But where were they when the plant closed down and people lost their jobs? Where were they when our partners turned on us as the bank accounts ran dry? Where were they when we flocked to the low income housing that this dilapidated, fractured building provided us? They were here, pointing and laughing and spreading rumors.

This all happened so very quickly. I had been toiling away at my new job, pulling freight off of trucks part time at a market the next town over. I may have had to walk some days but I was always on time and reliable. It was only part time though so I made just enough to get by. One day, Gina, the latin american woman who always tended to flirt with me despite the fact that she was in her late 70s, convinced me to join her in buying a lottery ticket. I had intended to buy hers but she insisted that I simply buy one for myself. I found many of our neighbors down there. Tommy, almost a month sober now is at the head of the line, excitedly telling Dante about his new job. Dante smiles and hands Tommy his ticket, telling him he’s proud of him. Gina would tell me how Dante ran the shop for over 3 years and has listened to every single one of their problems. Seeing the smile on Dante’s face, I could tell there was genuine fulfillment. I laid my money on the counter and began talking to him. I asked him questions about what he would do for the community if he could do anything? Dante would tell me that if it were up to him, he’d find a way to help get everyone in my building back on their feet. He explained that Tommy’s alcoholism didn’t begin spiraling until after he lost his job at the plant. He explained that Gina has been struggling to save her money but her son is in need as well, so she transfers what she can to Piedras Negras. He explains that if these people had a stable living situation that their lives could improve exponentially. I took my ticket from Dante, wished him well, and I told him that if I won I’d reach out to him.

So the day came when the numbers were unveiled. There was no exclamation of joy. No corks popping. It was just another day for everyone in that building. Just another day for all of them. But not for me. I held the winning lottery ticket in my hand. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to thoughts of moving away. Of finding a better house for myself. Of pursuing a better education and making a better life for myself. But then I thought back to what I had said to Dante. I reached out to him and we discussed all the different possibilities. Everything that we could do to improve our neighbors lives. The first thing we did was we reached out to the landlord and purchased the land. We cited the long history of issues and the many reported failures, both electrical and plumbing. With all of this knowledge we were able to buy the land for a bargain. I sent out notices to all of my neighbors, asking them to pack up their belongings and go to the local motel while we renovated the building. The motel fees were all paid for of course.

So now here I stand among a throng of people, as the demolition crew begin the process of safely tearing the building down. These people look out at this building and wonder aloud at all the possibilities that a new venture could bring. But this new venture isn’t going to be for them. Every single new piece of hardwood floor, every new window, and every new door is to give a proper foundation for the lost, the vagrant, and the forgotten. Every penny is going towards helping them find new jobs. Towards paying for rehab. Towards putting them in better positions to help their families. This apartment building may be turned to splinters and dust. But the memories it held will never be forgotten. There will only be more reasons for me to make sure that these people and their stories are never forgotten.