Opening his condo door was like unsealing a tomb; nauseous vapors oozed out. Stanley smoked incessantly. It helped calm his mind, especially when he was nervous. Today, he had already gone through a pack and a half. Beyond cigarettes, alcohol, and caffeine, Stanley was drug free. He had never even tried fuse, the drug of choice for most people. It was said that once you tried it, you were more than likely to stay on it for the rest of your life. From what little life he saw beyond the windowpane, that’s exactly what a huge number of his townsmen had done.
His neighbor, Glenda, was walking slowly up the stairs. She was a gentle soul — the type of neighbor he had prayed for. Her short, straight, gray hair was cut evenly all around her head, resting above her blue eyes. Brief, intermittent tugs progressed her small, hunched body forward.
Stanley knew better than to help her. She wanted to struggle, to fight it out, never accepting his help. Still, he couldn’t help but want to do something for her. She was, after all, his only friend — if he could be so presumptuous. She had never called on Stanley at the condo. Her simple conversations in the hallway were enough to prevent him from completely losing his mind.
He watched her painfully slow ascent from the corner of his eye but said nothing for a long while. Cat hairs littered her red sweatsuit. There were too many to count — he really did try but gave up at around one hundred thirty-seven. He recognized the shorter, black and orange hairs of her calico cat and the long white hairs of her other cat. There were even a couple of longer white hairs that belonged to Glenda. Sometimes, on particularly exciting days, Stanley would catch foreign hairs that didn’t belong to any of them.
“Hello, Glenda. Lovely weather today.” Stanley offered a simple, genuine smile. His body was oriented so that she was looking at his right side, his normal side. That put people more at ease. Some people. With one small pivot, he could avoid the death gaze and that frantic shuffling of focus that occasionally but cursorily heaved toward him.
Saying nothing, she tugged herself up another two steps.
Even though it took her a long time to climb, being around her relaxed Stanley. He felt human, almost forgetting about his scars. He wanted to bake her cookies (her favorite was oatmeal), feed her runaway cats, whom he had seen grow up from kittens, or help her with her laundry. But he didn’t do any of that — didn’t even offer. The gift of companionship, the simple camaraderie as passersby in a condo they both lived in, was enough. Of course, he wanted more, but he wasn’t willing to risk that. Nor was he bold enough to impose his ghoulishness beyond what she had been so divine to entertain.
“Jesus, Stanley, when are you going to quit smoking? This hallway reeks.” She glanced ever so slightly in his direction, overlapping wrinkles threatening to swallow her face.
“You’re right — I should quit. But it helps relax me.” Stanley watched her pull herself up. “How are Mittens and Boots?”
“They’re fine. Mittens nearly escaped this morning. She’s a frisky one. Can’t take my eye off her for a minute.”
“Where is she trying to go?”
“Out. Just out. She wasn’t going anywhere.”
They lived on one of Marshfield’s busiest streets. At least it used to be busy. The traffic had decreased every year, as if the world were slowly disappearing.
A painful memory of his cat Roxi clawed at Stanley’s heart. He could sneak a cigarette down in the laundry room. For now, he needed to think of something else. He saw the MK888 in his mind’s eye. “Right. Just out,” he said. The thought troubled Stanley. He and Mittens sought opposite worlds, and yet they had the same fundamental problem: they wanted to be free.
Glenda coughed, lightly, at first, and then more harshly. She coughed so hard her nearly transparent hand let go of the rail, sending her off balance.
Stanley darted forward, tossing his laundry to the side and grabbing her before she fell. A web of pliant bones shifted against his fingers. Face to face, the scent of lavender trickled through his nose. Fear beamed out of her eyes, like weaponized lasers. Even though he knew she would have fallen, that her old and frail body had neither the strength nor quickness to avoid injury on its own, even though he had saved her from a broken leg, hip, or worse, any good feelings he had from helping her were overshadowed by a sea of embarrassment and guilt. His fingers felt dirty. Her arm and shoulder hunched up defensively, and the fear that shone in her squinted eyes was as if an injury was still to come. She turned her head, but he’d already absorbed the blow. Looking away, he said softly, “I’m sorry.”
After picking up his laundry, he got halfway down the stairs before she called to him.
“Stanley — ”
He felt like a child about to be scolded. Staring at the worn green carpet, caressing his burnt hand with his normal one, he halted without looking up. Of course, he deserved it. He’d crossed the line, got into her personal space. But what would he do without Glenda?
Glenda’s voice was soft, motherly. “You’re a good man.”
The words took Stanley completely by surprise. For that brief moment, he actually believed them. Like a spirit, he seemed to drift downstairs, his mind occupied by her words.
It wasn’t until he was in front of the washer-dryer that he snapped out of it. “Hello, Stanley. Would you like to do a wash?” asked Leticia. She didn’t have a physical presence, but she was integrated into many of the devices throughout the condominium complex, including Stanley’s home. She served the whole condo
