I watched two young men struggle with a bed frame, easing it down a ramp, waving at each other as they danced to and fro in the parking lot. Once done, they maneuvered the frame up a flight of stairs. Someone was honking. It was Mr. Dawson from the other side of the building. He wanted the guys to move their van. It was blocking his car. One of the movers shook his head and said no, Dawson had to wait.
A new person was moving into Unit B, the one next to mine on the landing. Until about four months ago, it had been occupied by Ms. Mallouk, an older Lebanese woman.
On more than one occasion I’d driven her to doctor’s appointments and sat in the Kaiser Oakland waiting room, but whatever the doctors had implanted in her chest hadn’t done the trick. I attended her memorial at the Lake Merritt Garden Center.
It didn’t take long for the place to sell. Properties in the condo development were going at a fast clip. It was during the summer when realtors from throughout Oakland kept stuffing our mailboxes with flyers urging us to sell. Where would I go? After being maligned for years, Oakland had now become a hot property. One day a lockbox appeared like a barnacle to the railing of Ms. Mallouk’s unit, an ugly thing. I watched a procession of eager buyers mount the stairs led by an enthusiastic young man who predicted with a happy smile, a bidding war. As the weeks ensued, I picked out from the crowd my imagined new neighbor.
One day, I noticed an elderly Asian woman exit the apartment with the dramatic sweep of kabuki performer. She was tall and dressed in a blue coat that reached her ankles. Her face was white with make-up, cheeks rouged. There was finality in the way in which she shook the realtor’s hand and then descended to the parking lot. I assumed that she was my new neighbor, but I was wrong. (more to come)
Interesting story, I’m looking forward to where you take this.
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