Tracy
Last Thursday I was sitting home by myself while Mark was at the grocery store, drinking some wine and smoking some weed. I thought that I heard crying in my stairwell, but I ignored it. Then I heard a light tap at the door. I opened it up, and standing there in the dark hallway was my next door neighbor, wild eyed, and crying uncontrollably. Even though she has lived there for about three years now, I've never talked to her. She seems like a miserable curmudgeon with no social skills, and she has never said a casual "hello" when I see her outside, so I never bothered either. Plus, there was an absurd incident a few years back where she gave two of my friends the middle finger in the parking lot. She is 48 and lives with her dad, who I have talked to once. This is probably too much information, but her dad yawns SO LOUD!! We really hardly ever hear him at all, unless he is yawning at the top of his lungs, which he does kind of often. We made up a nickname for him. It's "The Loud Yawner".
Anyway, there she was; a disheveled banshee, sprung from the loins of the Loud Yawner, clearly in the middle of an emotional breakdown. She was wearing sweats, no shoes, and her hair was sticking straight up in a million wild directions like Sonic the Hedgehog. "Hi, can I help you?" I said. She just stood there and cried and hyperventilated for a few seconds. "Are you okay?!" She shook her head no. "What's the matter? What's even your name?" I asked. "Tracy," she said. "My cat died two days ago. My fiancée died ten years ago. And my dad is in the hospital. Can you please just come sit with me? I can't be by myself right now." I told her I was sorry, and that that blows, hoping to dodge her invitation. But she asked again if I could "just come over and sit with [her] and hold [her] hand"! I was afraid that if I said no she was going to kill herself so I said okay, I would.
I went into her apartment, which was pitch black. There was hardly any furniture or decorations on the walls. It smelled like cigarettes, and there was bologna and crumbs all over the floor. Some of the bologna had been chewed up, but some of it was in cold cut slices. There were a bunch of ashtrays, all full of half smoked cigarettes, which I thought was weird. She sat down on the couch and rocked back and forth and cried and hyperventilated some more while clutching some toys she had leftover from her dead cat. She was also wiping her face with the cat toys. She was holding my hand SO HARD and telling me that she couldn't handle "this pressure pushing down on [her] life" and asking me how to make it stop! I had no answer, and I was getting freaked out by this extremely sad and helpless insane person.
She was also slurring her speech and walking really unsteadily on her feet, which made me think that maybe she had taken something. Any time she got up she made me hold her hand and walk with her! I asked her if she had been drinking, or if she had taken any meds. She said no, that she was just "really mentally unstable". She told me that she had been to a mental hospital eighteen times. I was like "Yo, I get that." Because if my fiancée had died, I would probably have to go there too. I changed my verbiage and asked her if she had "done any drugs", thinking that maybe I would get a different answer, but it was still no. "Do you have some weed? Do you think that would help me? I smell it coming from your place sometimes," she asked. I said that yes, I did, and that I would bring some over for her to smoke. She made me leave my cell phone there "as collateral" because she kept freaking out and asking me if I was sure I wasn't going to just leave and not come back! I brought the weed back, and she took one hit. Then she started to get very paranoid and act even more manic and weird.
Her paranoia mainly alternated between worrying that I was going to call the cops, and worrying that I was going to leave her there by herself. I told her I was going to leave as soon as possible, but that I was definitely not going to call the cops, because I HAD WEED MYSELF, so why the fuck would I do that?! I tried to change the subject. "So, how come your dad yawns so loud?" "Because he's really fucking tired!" she snapped. Okay. She snatched my cell phone and asked me if she could look through it to be sure I had not called or texted the cops, to which I said no, because even though I had not done that, I had definitely texted a friend to tell them about this insane thing that was happening.
More paranoia ensued, followed by more hyperventilation and uncontrollable crying. I kept trying to find out what the fuck this freak had taken, and I guess I was talking to her really slowly/loudly, because she told me "I am not autistic, and I'm also not a retarded person or a baby, okay? Stop talking to me like that!" She asked me if I would get her a glass of water, and when I came back with it, she got off the couch and lunged at me!!!! "WOAH, what the fuck?" I asked. "Why did you do that?" She looked at me like a frightened animal and said "I'm sorry. I thought you were a monster. Please don't leave. And please don't call the cops, whatever you do. I hate the cops." I said "Great, I hate them too. But for real, what did you take?"
Finally, she told me that she had, in fact, been drinking. She pointed to a completely empty bottle of vodka on the floor. I was relieved because at least her behavior made some sense now! She kept forgetting my name, and my age, and which apartment I lived in. If she had actually been sober, and just that extremely manic, that would have been more fucked up. At least the drinking explained things. She started picking up some of the crumbs and bologna on the floor, meanwhile dropping the tear soaked cat toys, and saying "This is bad. Oh, this is a mess." And it was, so I didn't say anything, or help her. "Do you have a job?" I asked her while she picked up bologna mush and put it in a wrinkled paper towel. She got defensive and said "Yes I have a job. I'm not THAT fucked up. I know you probably see me in the parking lot and think about how I'm a fat ugly loser and you hate me, but yeah, I have a job." I had definitely never thought that, and what did those two things have to do with each other anyway?! One minute she would be begging me to not leave her, and the next minute she would snap at me. Then she would freak out about me potentially contacting the police. What?
"Listen, can you just hold me?" she asked, starting to cry again. "I'm so scared to be alone." I told her that I couldn't hold her because that was weird for me, but I was down to hold her hand for a few more minutes. "Let me hold you then. Pleeeeeaaaase!!" I said fine, she could hold me, which I should not have said. We sat on the couch and she hugged me and hugged the soggy cat toys and wiped her face with them. She was smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke in my hair, and crying in it too. "Hey, are you going to hurt yourself?" I must have asked her five times. She kept saying no, that she had just had a lot of things happen to her in life. That was when I noticed a bottle of Advil PM on the table, which I asked her if she had taken. She didn't remember, "but for real, are you going to call the cops? Have you ever called them? They can't come in here."
When she calmed down a bit, and was at least breathing normally, I told her I was going to go, and that she should go to bed. She said "You're right, I should." She thanked me for sitting with her, and for not calling the cops. I hoped that she was so blackout drunk that she would completely forget about all of this. I also hoped that I would never see her again, though I knew I would, since she lives next door.
Two days later I noticed that her car had been in the same parking spot ever since this happened, and I started to wonder if maybe she had killed herself. No one would know, since she was home by herself. What if she had killed herself, and what if I could end up being blamed for it because I had smoked some weed with her? I knocked on the door, and she answered. She looked much more put together than she had two days prior, but still like she is batshit crazy to the core of her very being. There was no bologna on the floor, and I couldn't see any cat toys. These were good signs. She made me come in and see her dad, because he had come home from the hospital. I went in The Loud Yawner's room with her and said hello. He was clearly on painkillers and laid up in bed from knee surgery. I told him I hoped he had a speedy recovery, told Tracy that I was glad she was feeling better, and made a hasty exit.
Anyway, there she was; a disheveled banshee, sprung from the loins of the Loud Yawner, clearly in the middle of an emotional breakdown. She was wearing sweats, no shoes, and her hair was sticking straight up in a million wild directions like Sonic the Hedgehog. "Hi, can I help you?" I said. She just stood there and cried and hyperventilated for a few seconds. "Are you okay?!" She shook her head no. "What's the matter? What's even your name?" I asked. "Tracy," she said. "My cat died two days ago. My fiancée died ten years ago. And my dad is in the hospital. Can you please just come sit with me? I can't be by myself right now." I told her I was sorry, and that that blows, hoping to dodge her invitation. But she asked again if I could "just come over and sit with [her] and hold [her] hand"! I was afraid that if I said no she was going to kill herself so I said okay, I would.
I went into her apartment, which was pitch black. There was hardly any furniture or decorations on the walls. It smelled like cigarettes, and there was bologna and crumbs all over the floor. Some of the bologna had been chewed up, but some of it was in cold cut slices. There were a bunch of ashtrays, all full of half smoked cigarettes, which I thought was weird. She sat down on the couch and rocked back and forth and cried and hyperventilated some more while clutching some toys she had leftover from her dead cat. She was also wiping her face with the cat toys. She was holding my hand SO HARD and telling me that she couldn't handle "this pressure pushing down on [her] life" and asking me how to make it stop! I had no answer, and I was getting freaked out by this extremely sad and helpless insane person.
She was also slurring her speech and walking really unsteadily on her feet, which made me think that maybe she had taken something. Any time she got up she made me hold her hand and walk with her! I asked her if she had been drinking, or if she had taken any meds. She said no, that she was just "really mentally unstable". She told me that she had been to a mental hospital eighteen times. I was like "Yo, I get that." Because if my fiancée had died, I would probably have to go there too. I changed my verbiage and asked her if she had "done any drugs", thinking that maybe I would get a different answer, but it was still no. "Do you have some weed? Do you think that would help me? I smell it coming from your place sometimes," she asked. I said that yes, I did, and that I would bring some over for her to smoke. She made me leave my cell phone there "as collateral" because she kept freaking out and asking me if I was sure I wasn't going to just leave and not come back! I brought the weed back, and she took one hit. Then she started to get very paranoid and act even more manic and weird.
Her paranoia mainly alternated between worrying that I was going to call the cops, and worrying that I was going to leave her there by herself. I told her I was going to leave as soon as possible, but that I was definitely not going to call the cops, because I HAD WEED MYSELF, so why the fuck would I do that?! I tried to change the subject. "So, how come your dad yawns so loud?" "Because he's really fucking tired!" she snapped. Okay. She snatched my cell phone and asked me if she could look through it to be sure I had not called or texted the cops, to which I said no, because even though I had not done that, I had definitely texted a friend to tell them about this insane thing that was happening.
More paranoia ensued, followed by more hyperventilation and uncontrollable crying. I kept trying to find out what the fuck this freak had taken, and I guess I was talking to her really slowly/loudly, because she told me "I am not autistic, and I'm also not a retarded person or a baby, okay? Stop talking to me like that!" She asked me if I would get her a glass of water, and when I came back with it, she got off the couch and lunged at me!!!! "WOAH, what the fuck?" I asked. "Why did you do that?" She looked at me like a frightened animal and said "I'm sorry. I thought you were a monster. Please don't leave. And please don't call the cops, whatever you do. I hate the cops." I said "Great, I hate them too. But for real, what did you take?"
Finally, she told me that she had, in fact, been drinking. She pointed to a completely empty bottle of vodka on the floor. I was relieved because at least her behavior made some sense now! She kept forgetting my name, and my age, and which apartment I lived in. If she had actually been sober, and just that extremely manic, that would have been more fucked up. At least the drinking explained things. She started picking up some of the crumbs and bologna on the floor, meanwhile dropping the tear soaked cat toys, and saying "This is bad. Oh, this is a mess." And it was, so I didn't say anything, or help her. "Do you have a job?" I asked her while she picked up bologna mush and put it in a wrinkled paper towel. She got defensive and said "Yes I have a job. I'm not THAT fucked up. I know you probably see me in the parking lot and think about how I'm a fat ugly loser and you hate me, but yeah, I have a job." I had definitely never thought that, and what did those two things have to do with each other anyway?! One minute she would be begging me to not leave her, and the next minute she would snap at me. Then she would freak out about me potentially contacting the police. What?
"Listen, can you just hold me?" she asked, starting to cry again. "I'm so scared to be alone." I told her that I couldn't hold her because that was weird for me, but I was down to hold her hand for a few more minutes. "Let me hold you then. Pleeeeeaaaase!!" I said fine, she could hold me, which I should not have said. We sat on the couch and she hugged me and hugged the soggy cat toys and wiped her face with them. She was smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke in my hair, and crying in it too. "Hey, are you going to hurt yourself?" I must have asked her five times. She kept saying no, that she had just had a lot of things happen to her in life. That was when I noticed a bottle of Advil PM on the table, which I asked her if she had taken. She didn't remember, "but for real, are you going to call the cops? Have you ever called them? They can't come in here."
When she calmed down a bit, and was at least breathing normally, I told her I was going to go, and that she should go to bed. She said "You're right, I should." She thanked me for sitting with her, and for not calling the cops. I hoped that she was so blackout drunk that she would completely forget about all of this. I also hoped that I would never see her again, though I knew I would, since she lives next door.
Two days later I noticed that her car had been in the same parking spot ever since this happened, and I started to wonder if maybe she had killed herself. No one would know, since she was home by herself. What if she had killed herself, and what if I could end up being blamed for it because I had smoked some weed with her? I knocked on the door, and she answered. She looked much more put together than she had two days prior, but still like she is batshit crazy to the core of her very being. There was no bologna on the floor, and I couldn't see any cat toys. These were good signs. She made me come in and see her dad, because he had come home from the hospital. I went in The Loud Yawner's room with her and said hello. He was clearly on painkillers and laid up in bed from knee surgery. I told him I hoped he had a speedy recovery, told Tracy that I was glad she was feeling better, and made a hasty exit.