The note

A man died. I'm not sure who, well I do know the name but I don't know anything about him as a person. The only reason I know that he died is that when I came back from a run yesterday afternoon there was this note posted on the entrance door to the apartment building.




Our neighbor Nancy must know, she was holding court early this morning on the stoop talking to everyone about it, really loudly. It's not her fault, Nancy just can't talk without shouting.

Rochelle, had another neighbor also joined her on the stoop. Now, Rochelle always makes me feel like I'm a young girl again. Not in that carefree, spirited way but in that "RUN for your life, they're coming!!!" kind of way."

When I grew up there were these kids in our neighborhood called the Mean Boy and Girl, a brother and sister duo. I never knew their names, everyone, even the parents just called them the Mean Boy and Girl. I know, it sounds like a children's book. I would know the Mean Boy and Girl were approaching without even seeing. It would suddenly go dark as their huge menacing frames blocked the sun momentarily. (Well, that's how it was in my seven year old brain) and I, we, all of us would just take off running until we got to safety.

They never caught us.

But as I valued my life, I never too the chance. To get to my friend Louise's house when coming from the lane way the direct route would take you past their house. I went this one once or twice, breaking the land speed record both times, but usually I just walked the long way in safety.

Rochelle kind of elicits the same response from me. I know her by reputation and from what I hear. I'ts impossible not to hear her, her voice is like a foghorn. She's a big woman with an even bigger mouth and a tongue that can cut people to shreds. In fairness, this depends on how much booze is in her blood at the time.

She's either all sugar or nesting python. There ain't no middle ground. It's either a "Hey baby," or a torrent of abuse that would have any self respecting cursing sailor reeling. I have a certain amount of respect for people who can curse really well, I can let fly myself when necessary, but Rochelle, she takes it to a whole new level and trust me, it's not pretty.

It happens every now and again and from the sound of it, today is her day. She's already started on the bottle this morning, I could tell that from her voice. But I had to go downstairs to leave a note on the door for the UPS man to call when making a delivery for me as the buzzer is broken.

I opened the front door and saw that she was smoking a cigarette and sitting right in the middle of the stairs. She could be there for five minutes or an hour. I'd wait. Then I heard Nancy, my saviour. So I bolted downstairs and got to Nancy and Rochelle at the same time. I gave Nancy a big hello.

Then Rochelle started, "Hey, someone been coming round here taking five dollars....." Nancy jumps straight in, "she ain't Mexican, she's a happily married woman, she's Russian or something, she don't know nothing about that, so don't go starting in on her with that stuff."

Russian, Thai, Ukranian, Vietnamese, Indian - who cares, as long as Rochelle didn't start. I posted my note for the UPS man and then had to sidle past her again as she finished her cigarette. I didn't run, last time I did that she cursed me out for running away from her and then started yelling at the top of her voice she was going to burn the building down and didn't care if she went to jail for "arsonry."

Don't be alarmed, she's not serious when she does this, just horribly drunk. However, I still didn't think it was going to be my finest moment to stick my head out the door and offer, "Excuse me Rochelle, before you burn the building down it's arson, not arsonry."

Well, it's all quiet now, so Rochelle must be upstairs sleeping like a little lamb. One thing's for sure, life in Harlem, hell, life with this many people in such close proximity anywhere, can never be dull.