Xanthippe (#AtoZChallenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE

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“This is what I can tell you, Detectives. First, she was poisoned. The effects were wearing off and are definitely older than the bludgeoning. The victim was stabbed next, twice in the abdomen, the softer tissue. From the blue tint of her lips, she was still alive when her pillow was finally used for suffocation. Someone wanted this woman dead.”

Detectives Dibny and Wayne,  investigating Doris Bertram’s murder, looked at each other. Dibny wanted to say that this was just overkill, but the look on Wayne’s face held him back. They thanked the forensics doc and headed upstairs to their desks: Wayne to look over the notes he’d already gone over a close to a dozen times that day alone; Dibny to find out what his wife packed him for lunch.

The notes were the same each time Wayne looked: no forced entry; door found ajar; fire escape gate was unlocked and wide open; a variety of fingerprints from tenants and family here and there (not a compulsive cleaner, which Wayne cursed at: it only added to his headache); women’s footprints in the blood of the victim-same size as the victim, and about fifteen others in the building, as well as her youngest daughter; no blood splatter to be found on any clothing; no prints on either murder weapon used-wiped clean; no fibers found; etc. etc. etc….

…that all led to a great big pile of nada. The detective threw the folder together, dumped it on the corner of his desk, and went out for lunch.

This was one case he never got to close. Retired now, it bothered him occasionally, especially when he reminisced while visiting Dibny’s grave.

******

Doris Bertram, late of Swan Rise Apartments, ex-president of the Tenants Association, was mourned by her two grown children (the oldest more then the younger, truth be told) and an assortment of friends and neighbors. Two people in the building were glad she was gone; one of the two not happy about the method, but in the long run, happy nonetheless.

Patty smiled a lot in the days after Doris was found. Being reinstated as president only matched her glee. In the end, she just found this exciting, and wound up using it to push through a lot of “extras” for the building. Each change she sought and won was a victory for her, and Doris’ murder helped her achieve more than she had previously. When she went out (without Mrs. Beatty), which she did often, she’d offer a silent toast to Doris, not in good wishes at all.

Mrs. Beatty was saddened by the murder, and made more fearful. Since her husband had died, she grew more and more afraid, and this was the “straw that broke the cake” (she could never remember adages as they were supposed to be).  She had thought someone had been in her apartment: some clothing was missing, as well as the embroidered handkerchief that David had made for her. Now she was sure of it, and after the meeting she needed extra fortification, visiting the Frolicking Lamb and then making arrangements to have heavy duty dead bolts put on her door and to replace the two door locks she already had.

*****

Dragana had replaced her husbands keys exactly where he left them, exactly where he had left them every night since they had moved in and he took “this stinking job.” He was snoring away as usual, beer vapors expelled with each “sqoink” he made. She stood over him, the dim shine of the moon and street and parking lot lights illuminating him through the slats of the window blinds. The shadows sliced him into pieces, and Dragana wished she hated him more than she loved him or needed him.

In the morning, the building was abuzz with Mrs. Beatty’s finding a door ajar, and then finding the dead Doris. Andres was put off balance, and he glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye throughout the day. She ordered him out of her hair, doing more odd jobs for her this day than normal, and he did it with tail between his legs. She batted the cigar out of his mouth, stomped on it, and for once he just turned and walked away.

“Sleep with MY husband? You bitch!” ran through Dragana’s mind, taking away the small satisfied smile that occasionally crept onto her face. Patty came out of the elevator at one point and saw the change in Dragana’s face. Their eyes locked, and Patty was the one to break contact this time. She also stayed out of Andre’s way after this, not really knowing why but knowing it was the smart thing to do.

Dragana sat in her overstuffed chair, watching the shopping network, ordering a few things she did not need. She waited the day to see if she had made any mistakes, but the detectives only questioned her about seeing anyone hanging around the building who should not be there and if she knew anyone who had a grudge against “the victim.” Dragana brought up the prostitute that had been seen in the lot that the police did nothing about, and that Patty hated her and Mrs. Beatty was her stooge in all things.

She had planned this for awhile, finding out about her bastard husband and “that bitch” by overhearing some of the gossip from the Laundry Room Mafia. They “shushed” when they did find her listening, but it had been too late.

She had gone on an out of state shopping trip, buying a skin tight full body cat suit (cash). On the same trip, she stopped at a surgical supply store and purchased a number of items that she did not need and three that she did: sterile gloves and covering for her head/hair and shoes.  Later that night she saw Mrs. Beatty and Patty leave; she “borrowed” the building keys, went into Mrs. Beatty’s apartment, and since they were just about the same size, took shoes, a pair of pants, a blouse, and at the last minute, the embroidered handkerchief. Patty was larger than Dragana, and as much as she hoped to pin this on her, it would not have been smart.

Andres had come in, smelling of sex, but went and took a shower before she had a chance to accuse him. He drank three beers and went to sleep, dead to the world. Dragana put on the cat suit and then put Mrs. Beatty’s clothes on over that. Going up the stairway, she waited at the top landing until all the dog walkers were in for the night. She put the surgical items on, took out the master set of keys, and opened Doris’s door…for the second time that day.

Earlier in the day she had been inside,  when Doris was “entertaining” her husband in his workshop. She had put some rat poison in some of the open beverage containers in the fridge. Enough to get her sick and woozy; not enough, she hoped, to kill her, yet.

Doris was staggering, hand on her stomach, and fell to her knees. She clutched herself, thinking she had food poisoning, and groaning so much she did not hear Dragana unlock the door, enter and close it behind her. She opened her eyes in time to see the Buddha being lifted, then swung towards her head.

Dragana had blood on her, but the energy she used to lift the heavy statue, and the jitters she felt, drained her from using it a second time. A second time she needed, obviously to her, as Doris was still alive. Dragana went into the kitchen and took a knife out of the teak block on the counter. Straddling over her, Dragana plunged the knife into her stomach twice. The blood spray sickened her, but still Doris would not die.

Reaching over to the couch, Dragana took one of the chintz pillows and put it over the pleading lips she hated so much. It didn’t take much pressure (Dragana was not doing well herself) to push the pillow down. Finally…finally, Doris was gone.

Dragana stood up, stepped in the blood, and walked over to the window in the living room that had the fire escape. She opened the window and the grate that Doris never locked, and climbed out. She almost cried out when she saw a figure below her: “that idiot Weather Man!” but she stood stock still. It was then she also noticed the bloody footprints. She took off the shoe covering and carefully reentered the apartment, leaving the window and gate wide open.

Making her way far around the body, Dragana opened the front door and crept out, leaving it ajar so as not to make any more noise then was needed. She went down the stairs to the basement and took off all of Mrs. Beatty’s clothes. Using her husband’s keys, she opened the elevator door (the elevator was on the 4th floor and had been for awhile) and went down the rungs to the shaft’s floor.

There was the black plastic bag she had left earlier. Using Mrs. Beatty’s handkerchief, she wiped off as much blood as she could, trying to make sure nothing would leak onto her when she undressed. All of the purloined materials went into the bag; the bag went underneath the oily trash her husband was supposed to clean up, but never did (and never would).  She set fire to the surgical items, a rotten burning smell that just intermingled with the garbage, and scattered the melted pieces around the base.

Cat suited, she made her way quickly to her apartment, removed it and wadded it into a ball, tossing it to the back of her walk-in closet that was already brimming with clothing.

Naked, she sat on the edge of her bed and shook.

Weather Man, Oh (AtoZ Challenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE

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The Weather Man rode the elevator with a daily proclamation, the steel enforced walls girding him the fortitude to meet the day. When he first moved into the building with his wife and dog, it was always a “Fine day to you!”, a tip of his hat, and a gaze that never faltered. He and his moved about, coming and going at all times of the day, seemingly living to just enter or disembark and greet all encountered.

“Oh, it’s cold outside.”

“Oh, the rain is coming.”

“Oh, it’s Summer now.”

His walking shoes were seldom replaced for boots; only on the muckiest of days. Dark pants, plaid or plain shirt, and padded elbow jackets were his uniform, and only a parka covered that during the height of the winter months. Never a cross mien, never an unkind word, but you’d know about the weather of the day, wanting it or not, as he passed you by.

When his dog was alive, they were as one. Quiet, looking forward, a quick comment, and then out with a nod. The two would wander the streets, up and down the road, crossing the avenues, into the grassy plains. And walk…the two would walk. Returning only delayed the inevitable: they’d be out again, sooner than later, with the same report of mother nature being extolled if you ran across them in their outings.

Then the dog passed onto the hereafter, and The Weather Man seemed lost. Rarely venturing out with his wife to begin with, he now was a solitary figure following the same pathways he and his friend always took. At first there was a jingling upon his arrival or departure from the Otis contrivance; a slight tinkle as his hand reached into his jacket pocket. Soon that mystery was solved, as The Weather Man wound his dog’s leash and tags around his right hand and wrist, openly, and made no mention of it.

If an accident occurred on the parkway, The Weather Man would wander over and stare. Up and down the road he’d go, looking at the destruction from as many angles as he could, as if studying it for later use. Hands in his pockets, he’d then meander away from the building for hours on end.

He was seen, often, at The Frolicking Lamb, keeping his head down as he nursed his dark lager. The Weather Man always sat with his back against the wall, at the rear of the pub, and most said they always felt one eye on them when he was around, but they could never be certain. It was said that Frank, Ted and Ardel, who had newly came over from the emerald isles, were seen walking into the Lamb but went running out after noticing him there. They wouldn’t talk about it, and that was all there was to that.

It was also said that, on clear nights,  The Weather Man would climb out onto the fire escape of Swan Rise and climb to the top. There he would sit, with a scrap of paper, short nub of a pencil, and the leash bound to him like skin. Notes would be made, a code he had known before but now was finding it slip away. A flash of light would startle him, but it was only a high beam reflected off low lying fog, and he’d return to trying to recall what he was good at, once.

The Weather Man forgot, and in his forgetting he let go of the past: all his crimes (as said by some; heroic duty, as said by others), all his loves, all his cares, but the weather.

“Oh, it is still cold out.”

Vertically Challenged (AtoZ Challenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE

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Amy slipped the lock then snuck out onto the roof. One A.M., and she was still flying. Three acceptance letters in one day, with her prime choice school the last one she opened but the one she wanted most. She wedged a book she hated (“War and Peace”) between the door and jamb so she wouldn’t get locked on the roof. Then she wrestled the door stop cinder block onto the mostly closed door to prevent anyone opening it easily. She wanted some alone time, just her and the night sky, with whatever stars and moonlight that would shine through on this cloudy but warm evening.

Amy unfurled the quilt she brought with her, took off her sandals and knapsack, and stood in the middle of the blanket her grandmother made for her, a long time ago.

“Boston..Here I Come!” she shouted, in a very thrilled hushed voice. It was 1:00 a.m., after all, and she wanted no intrusions as she celebrated. Getting into the school she dreamed about was a chance for freedom, both musically and personally. While things had definitely gotten better with her mother, Amy still wanted to just be away. Needed to just be away.

Laying down on the comforter, she folded her hands behind her head and stared at the night sky. She quieted herself down, listening to the thumps of her excited heartbeat, and tried to match the rhythms with her breaths. Clouds passed her by, and the Earth turned, shifting the placements of the stars above. Sighing, Amy lifted herself up on her elbows, pulled over her knapsack, and took out the bottle of wine she “liberated” from her mom’s stash.

Uncorking was a struggle that caused her to giggle, and grunt a bit in the effort as well. The cork popped out and Amy told it to “shhhhhhh,” giggling as she took a swig from the opened red. It felt good going down, and while this was only the third wine she’d ever had, she deemed it “The Best Ever!”

It was half empty when she decided to take off her clothes and Moon Bathe. She’d never done anything like this before, and…well, “Why not?” she thought.  She was laughing, shushing herself as she removed her shorts and tee shirt, and then  got really quiet when, resolve at hand (well, the bottle had been in hand up to this point; she gently put it down), she undid her bra and then took off her panties. She covered her breasts with her right arm and covered “down there” with her left hand and then looked around to see if anyone could see her. This caused her to get a fit of the giggles that she had a hard time stopping.

Plopping down on the quilt, hurting her tush in the process, Amy buried her head in her raised knees until she both stopped the giggling and calmed down from the slight anxiety she felt. Resting her turned head in such a way, she got a glimpse of night, and it relaxed her, and her breathing returned to normal, and the beating of her heart was an accompaniment she was used to.

Amy stretched out, wading the knapsack up and using it as a pillow, and felt at peace…and a little bit naughty. She finished the wine in spurts, and as the hour drifted along, and then passed on towards three, Amy redressed slowly, her striptease now in reverse. Clothed, Amy again laid down, fluffed out the makeshift pillow, and closed her eyes.

Sleep came to her as her eyelashes met,  a kiss good night, pleasant dreams, pleasant future to come.

Unbeknownst to Amy, at 1:00 A.M. at Swan Rise Apartments…

Lev was on his terrace, eye glued to this telescope, searching the heavens, but not remembering who he was searching for…

Frank was looking out his window, apartment lights off, watching Meredith being kissed and held tightly by a man…

Doris, woozy, was trying to ward off her attacker, and fell when she was struck in the head by her own Buddha…

Marc was in bed, staring out the bedroom windows at the moon, a hand on Sean’s stomach as he snored….

Mrs. Beatty was dreaming of David, her beloved, and called out his name three times…

…and, if she had really looked, Amy would have seen The Weather Man sitting on the roof by the fire escape, his back to the wall, facing away from her, with his head tilted up to the same night views. If he had turned around, he would have seen Amy, but he did not when she arrived; he did not when she undressed, nor when she dressed, nor while she slept. The Weather Man just sat, head raised to the skies…

He was looking for a sign.

Underneath It All (AtoZ Challenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE

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Head bashed in, stabbed, poisoned and suffocated: enough ways to kill many people, but someone wanted Doris Bertram really, really dead. She had lived in 5F, and it was the Elevator Incident that fired her up to run for President of the Tenants Committee against Patty. That was her first mistake; the last was that she actually won.

Doris came to live in Swan Rise during the second wave, when some of the original tenants moved out, or on. A widow at an early age, Doris never remarried, content to bring up her two brats children by herself and running her office department with a firm hand. She skirted around the Laundry Room Mafia by breaking bread and becoming friendly with Dorothy “Dotty” Bregano,  Capo de Tutti Lavanderia, the leader of the laundry room. She ingratiated herself with every super that came along by “over tipping” them for each and every job done in her apartment (and for always offering that super’s favorite beer or spirit while he “worked”).  She’d had many of the building children in her residence at one time or the other, play dates with her two as they fought and challenged their way to the top of their respective power chains. All of those parents had Doris in for drinks and parties.

Doris played the long game, and she played it well. She and Patty had an understanding: they stood outside of each others influences, never having any true altercations over the years. They would greet each other when passing, wish the other a day’s grace, but never once did they sit down for a chat, a tea, or anything resembling a friendship. For Doris, she was glad someone took charge of the building. The majority of the changes sought, while mainly benefiting Patty outright or her vanity, suited Doris as well.

Then, the elevator finally gave up the ghost and was down for over a month. Patty took complaints to the building management, but living on the second floor did not inconvenience her like it did Doris, who lived three more long floors up. Doris was fired up, stirring up anyone she met coming or going. It helped that Dotty passed along her passion to anyone  who came across the Capo’s path as well, and the laundry room became a twirling mass of revolt. It wasn’t easy bringing laundry up and down the stairs, and Patty’s nonchalance about it all was infuriating. She had hers picked up and delivered, never using, or really caring, about the convenience in the building.

What Doris discovered, and what sent her into a tail spin and on her kamikaze way, was what was actually holding up the elevator repairs: Patty had convinced the building management that while they were replacing the motor that burned out, they might as well “fix up” the interior box with a drop ceiling, piped in muzak, and faux paneling to add to the new control works. All bells and whistles that no one else cared about, but in Patty and the owners eyes (who saw higher rents), presentation was everything.

Doris fumed, and got most of the residents fuming, and soon she was running the tenants association. Patty was out, and Mrs. Beatty with her: Mrs. Beatty’s services were “no long needed”, Doris “politely” told her. In two weeks Doris made a huge stink and  got things moving, much to Patty’s chagrin. The elevator had a completion date posted, and she got the building owners to stick to it. She also was moving onto other areas that had been neglected: fire sprinklers and video security. All of the tenants were amazed at what was happening in such a short time. All but Patty, and Mrs. Beatty.

At the end of Dori’s second week reign, Patty took Mrs. Beatty to The Frolicking Lamb, an Irish pub a few avenues away. Mrs. Beatty would nurse a half pint of bitters through the evening while Patty ordered the first of many a pint of Black and Tan. The two of them commiserated over their ousting. Well, Patty pontificated rather loudly and rudely (witnesses heard her scream out “…bitch needs to die!” a few times, but they hadn’t interceded); Mrs. Beatty listened, nodded, and shed a few modest sighs.  Mrs. Beatty had to help Patty back to the building: she called a cab to take them to Swan Rise, and then she had to help lug Patty to her apartment, put her to bed, and then lock up.

This came out in the police investigation the next day, after Doris Bertram’s door was found open and Doris was found D.O.A. The open door led to a lot of property of the victim ransacked; things smashed and upturned, jewelry and assorted “good” things missing (as per her oldest daughter), and the window to the fire escape open wide, with the gate unlocked. A statue of Buddha was used to bash in Dori’s head, and one of Doris’s own knives was used to stab her. This was found in the butcher block knife holder in her newly refurbished kitchen, put back in its place. While it seemed that there was an intruder, after questioning the building residents, some in the building fell under suspicion.

Frank was a suspect, simply because of his being Frank. The Weather Man was looked at, but dismissed early on as being “addled but safe.” Andres and his wife were looked at, as well as a few others. The Laundry Room Mafia all had different opinions on who would have killed “poor, poor Doris”.  Dotty was the most distraught, and while she took refuge in Dry Vermouth and Gin, she cast her gaze upon Doris’s rival, and let the police know.

Patty had been a prime suspect, and her doings were scrutinized up and down and left and right. One key sticking point for a detective was Patty’s reading material in the home and from library circulation: murder mysteries and Real Life Crime Stories. Patty said she that was just the genres she enjoyed reading. Somehow a local reporter got a hold of that information. The headlines screamed “Suspect in Gruesome Murder A Serial Killer Follower!” and assorted other juicy titles in a similar vein.

In the end, nothing was conclusive on the residents looked at or the possible outside offenders who preyed on the neighborhood. The case remained open, and eventually became cold.

Patty was reinstated as the President, with Mrs. Beatty by her side. The first thing Patty pushed through were the surveillance cameras so “nothing like this can ever happen again!” she exclaimed. Mrs. Beatty nodded as she recorded the minutes and kept her head down.

After the meeting that night, Mrs. Beatty returned to The Frolicking Lamb and ordered a full pint of bitters. When it arrived, she lifted her glass, closed her eyes in prayer, and did not nurse her drink that time. She had another, which was very unlike her.

Years later, when the gas line exploded, the building was searched for clues to the cause, and later for structural damages to all the systems. An insurance agent would come across clothing that was buried in oil muck at the bottom of the elevator shaft: pants, blouse and woman’s shoes. The agent shrugged her shoulders and didn’t look strongly enough to find the blood splatter still somewhat discernible. Nor did she pay any mind to the embroidered handkerchief, as the initials VJB were obscured by old, soaked in dried blood.

Thieving Ways (#AtoZChallenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE)

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Jewelry missing,  money disappears

A book, a glistening knick-knack, all gone;

Items go walking; owners are in tears

What was once valued, one day there was none.

Thieves, for this continues over the years;

Swan Rise residents wonder, none the wise

Exactly who takes what, who is to fear

Mysteries abound; rumor on wind flies.

But, with all that is taken, no price paid

Wounded spirits, in resentment, such hate

All who have lost, lost trust most, so dismayed

Countless measures taken, all too, too late.

Leave what is ours, not yours for the take

Who is at the door? Bolts, for our sake.

A to S: Swan Rise Index (#AtoZChallenge)

Open House: Trespassers Welcome

Swan Rise Apartments went out like an exploding lamb; it came in like a sleeping lion, but the building, and its inhabitants, did not always remain so. They lived lives that were  hungry, playful, sleepy, lusty, fearful, agitated and on the prowl; they reared their young, and did what they needed to survive in this vertical village.

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building

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The A to Z Challenge

Over 1,500 other bloggers, have committed to writing 26 posts during the month of April.

In my case, 26 stories (with maybe the occasional poetic form) that comprise an interrelated series revolving around the Swan Rise Apartment Building, a work of FICTION.

We started on April 1st with the letter A, and will continue throughout the month, sans Sundays. The letter Z will wind up on the last day of the month. Click HERE to find other participants in this month long challenge.

The Apartment Building: Swan Rise Index

Each Sunday, I’ll post links to the previous stories in case you missed any and for your ease in finding them.

Comments are always welcome no matter when you read the story.

Week #1: A to G

All, Tumbling Down

Basement Boogie

Children in the Hall

Doggie Doings

Equivocation Elite

Fire(escape)

Ground, Breaking

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Week #2: H to M

Holidays, Haunts and Hearts

Imaginings of Love

Jung, @Heart

Kindred Spheres

Laundry Room Mafia

Mrs. Beatty

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Week #3: N to S

Not What They Seem

One Man’s Ceiling…

Pollination in the Parking Lot

Quack, Quack

Retraction of Gravity

Super, My Super

Super, My Super (#AtoZChallenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE)

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Andres, the super, growled around the unlit cigar in his mouth. In that mood, anyone in their right mind would  jump out of his way as he swung the dirty mop back and forth across the ground floor tiling. The Laundry Room Mafia sniggered amongst themselves, sneaking glances into the hallway to see if anyone was stupid enough to approach him in “that mood.”

Dotty had her head out when Frank got out of the elevator. She, the Capo de tutti lavanderia, was hoping for a great show, but Frank, as usual, disappointed her. She saw the look on Frank’s face as he saw Andres, back turned, advancing on him with that “thwapp thwapp thwapp” of the mop. Instead of continuing down the hallway, Frank opted to leave by the front door, taking the long way to his car. Dotty took this out on Mrs. Beatty, who was doing her one wash for the day.

Next off the elevator was Patty, wearing a tight short red dress and killer heels. She also stopped when she saw Andres, but no one got in her way. She tapped up behind him. Turning, Andres gave her the once over. They nodded to each other, and as she went by, holding the wall so as not to slip, Andres watched her rear sway and her patterned stockinged legs as they waltzed away. He was pretty sure there was a little extra bounce in her movements for him, but he would never act on it, not the way gossip flew around HIS building.

Even though he was one of the prime instigators of gossip flying.

Dragana saw her husband put his head down very fast as she entered the building, passing Patty on the way out. Her scowl was intense enough that if she was a dark magic Witch, like some said she was, all the lights in the building would have blown. He looked up at the rustling of shopping bags (“clothes she needed like a hole in the head,” he thought) and they locked eyes. He waved at her, taking the cigar in his hand before he did. She nodded, turned left, and went into their apartment. Andres sighed, shook his head, and put the cigar back in his mouth.

As the day passed, Andres fixed two stuffed toilets, emptied the recycling room, polished what he could take his time polishing in the foyer, chatted with the Laundry Room Mafia in the morning, took a long lunch, chatted with his cronies over the mail delivery, and disappeared into his workshop or boiler room at every chance he could. Three cigars later, his day was done, and he was in his apartment watching the TV, drinking a beer, and complaining to his wife, who was in the kitchen, cooking,  about her dogs, people in the building, and anything else that was bothering him that day.

Dragana ignored him.

Andres was the last of the building superintendents, and next to Old George, he had lasted the longest. The first super was  Mr. Jenkins. He came into the building quietly and left the same way,  marring and moving upstate  soon afterwards. Next came “The Nazis”, a German couple that everyone hated. Everyone, and the hatred was dealt right back. Neither of them were Nazis, nor believed in anything of that regime, but their sour life together spilled out and created an unpleasant taste in all mouths. After them came Old George, a nice man, honestly beloved of the majority of the tenants (especially Amy). Sadly, he passed away, a heart attack taking him in his sleep.

For a short time came Nick. The least said about him, the better. Infidelities, theft, inappropriate behavior with most of the women in the building, drunkenness…all these things were part of his mythos. It was with great relief when he was sent packing.

Dragana, Andres, and their first child moved in immediately after. He went from attendant to Overlord in a short time, making friends with the right people. Dotty and the other ladies approved, as he was as big a yenta as they were. Patty approved of the way he looked at her. The Whistler and the boys approved, as they had someone to shoot the breeze with, dirty jokes and all.

So what if he harrumphed, yelled, chomped a cigar, had favorites, and looked down on everyone else?

A man’s apartment building was his castle.

Retraction of Gravity (#AtoZChallenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE)

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The inhabitants of Swan Rise Apartments carried the weight of their lives with them. Some  soared in moments of true elation, ecstasy, flights of fancy, but otherwise they were grounded through the daily realities. Others rarely ever rose above a situation. They’d trod through the days, milling around and about and passing by all the other tenants. The building was a center of gravity, keeping them in place from 1960 to 2005.

No…not all of them.

As the children grew, their universe expanded. As it expanded, they moved faster and faster away, seeking to fly off on their own and leave the parental orbit they’ve circled around. Eventually they acquired their own gravity force and rarely returned; too many seemed to have anti-gravity packs on them, with a time limit attached that says “Stay and hold back on  your life,  or move on.”

Then there are the divorces, those that stay after the dissolution of vows, those that leave. How many hearts can be broken in forty-five years? Until an explosion sent all the residents adrift in space, many homes lost their centers, the things that brought them together, holding them in place. Their collective dissolved, and the energy used to keep them in place was exhausted.

A growing number seemed to just be passing by. They settled for a short stay and left little to no trace of their moving on. This happened more and more as the years passed; the attraction and hold of the building fading, flinging out the new, holding onto the old.

Many did grow old in Swan Rise. Many left in the way most don’t like to talk about.

The dead…

So many, as the years passed by; tiny notices by the mail boxes, relating in only a few words the release of another from the grounds. With the eventual removal of that paper on the wall, the last tie was severed for many. When the Whistler died, and then soon after his wife, there was a hollow wind passing through the ground floor that many felt. Others were more fleeting. The one murder in the building held for a long time through the whispers, fears, and for one, relief.

Gone, the husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, grandparent, a number who lived a life alone, pets…so many pets. All those no longer earth bound.

Miraculously, no child died in the living history of Swan Rise. That grief was spared, until the explosion.

The foundation kept the building secure in place; the bricks, wood, plaster, glass, metals, ceramics gave it heft to hug the world it became for the many. Carpets and flooring were laid, furnishings and decor placed, and residents made their apartment a home. It had a mass that attracted them, mutually intense.

The building kept its own gravity, until parts of it were hurled away in a horrible blast and brought down to Earth by a greater force.

Quack, Quack (#AtoZChallenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE)

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The trickling of Swan River ran for miles. In some places it opened up wide, creating lake-like conditions, before it would narrow out again as it meandered from North to South. Along the course of this waterway ducks, geese, swans and other fowl took  residence. Most would leave during the winter months, their snow bird trek for warmer climes part of their nature. Over the years, with weather fronts changing, there would be times small flocks would not leave, making the river their home year round. This soon became the true barometer for many of the Swan Rise Apartments residents: when all the birds flew south, they knew they were in for a very cold, most likely very snowy, winter.

The river ran to lake size just opposite of Swan Rise complex; many apartments had views that overlooked it. A walking/bike riding path had been laid down years ago, with wooden and stone foot path bridges connecting the two sides at the narrower parts. Benches were placed at intervals along the way, and there were spaces to sit and have a picnic during the warmer times, which some hardier souls did even though they had to deal with territorial geese and their leavings.

Families and couples strolled, joggers jogged, and assorted wheeled instruments moved around the edges of the water, but never owned it. Swan River was the province of  the wild life, and life, death, love and hostilities were played out here in full view.

A scene from an early spring:

The numbers of ducks and geese have increased, and there is constant flow of swimmers, drifters and those folding their heads into their wings for sleep while others keep watch. Pairs are seen more than not: the bright green or blue colored heads of the drakes are bobbing along, overseeing their hen, their mate, she of varying shades of browns. She is the one you hear, the “quack quack” we associate them with, far lighter then the heavier honking of the geese, and very different from the swans, who have yet to return.

Large groups are swimming around various parts, many by the bridges when humans are by, hoping for food.

Not all, though. The center of the body of the river is empty. By the West bank is a drake, green headed; by the East bank, a hen, a mottled light brown. Whatever signal is given, whatever the prompt, they both turn towards each other in unison. Their speed is matched at they swim towards each other, the echoes of their movements played out in the otherwise still waters. They meet almost exactly in the middle, a slow turn around each other. She vocalizes twice during this do-SE-do. With the sun reflecting around them, they swim off together, she in the lead, he watchful and close behind, as they join the larger groups to the north.

Two different viewings of the same scene:

(1) Lev sat in his apartment most days looking out the window; days when the weather was nice he’d sit on his terrace. After his wife died, his son tried to get him to move, but Lev had no need to move, yet. Knowing his father’s penchant for star gazing, Seth bought him a telescope years ago. Lev used it some nights, as was intended; during the daytime, he’d watch the river life when he could.

It happened that he was focused at the right time, witnessing the coming together on the water. Transfixed from start to finish, in what really amounted to not a lot of time, Lev was brought to tears. He brought his head away from the scope, sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He felt it was just like that, with himself and Anna. Both survivors of the camps, set free but adrift after liberation, at almost opposite ends of a muddled land…yet, they found each other, and swam towards and around  together, until she died, a little more than two years ago.

Lev sat remembering, anguish mixed in with all of the happy memories they shared. After a time, he got up and went inside. Lev called Seth, asking if he would come over that evening. “Bring the family,” he asked.

(2) Amy was four years old and loved the park. She loved feeding the birds, chasing he birds (although repeatedly told not to), throwing sticks in the water, running and spending days like this with her mommy and daddy. They were holding hands while they watched her scamper, warning her when she got too close to an edge.

“Looky!” she called out, pointing, and the three of them stood transfixed, in their own ways, watching the ritual taking place before them.

Amy clapped her hands and yelled “YAY!” when the ducks swam away; she then did a little dance as she scampered along the path.

Stephen and Kattie, her parents, followed after, hugging each other, and both had wistful smiles plastered on their faces. They met up with Amy, who had scooted ahead, to the foot bridge. Amy was looking over the edge, on tippy toes, trying to find the pair of ducks among all the others milling about.

Stephen surprised them both, and himself (in all honesty), when he took Kattie’s hand and got down on one knee.

“Will you marry  me?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

 ”We already are, silly.”

“I know. I’d do it again…will you marry me?”

“Say ‘YES’ Mommy” someone shouted.

She hesitated, heart skipping a beat. “Yes,” she finally said, and was swooped up in a hug/kiss by both her husband and her daughter.

Two quacks, among others, could be heard.

Pollination in the Parking Lot (#AtoZChallenge)

Welcome to the A to Z Challenge : 26 Stories during the month of April

Welcome to… The Apartment Building: Swan Rise

(For Links to the previous stories, CLICK HERE)

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The cars in the parking lot were blanketed in yellow gold pollen. Microgametophytes, the seed plants wind borne gift of life, did not all reach its intended destinations, but settled onto the vehicles, giving their drivers a morning’s unwanted dusting. Some sneezes, a cough, a brushing onto pants and shirts, light jackets for an early spring morning…the plants and flowers were trying to mate, and the autos and Swan Rise residents got in the way.

This was a yearly occurrence, some worse than others. Intrusions into the day to day that most knew were coming but dreaded all the same. Pollen counts were always “the worst we’ve seen in years,” forgetting other years when the same statement was proclaimed. The cars got washed, the allergy sufferers suffered, and the parking lot doings went on.

Other mating rituals could be found through most of the year, but it was only the “damned yellow seed” that bothered many. Building dogs tried to mate, sniffing around each other (at least those that had not been snipped), and cats yowled during their seasons, the feral cats drawing their housed brethren to the window sills high above. Birds nested on the overhang and the roof, and bugs of all types found solace in cracks and loose mortar. No one talked about any rodent problem: there was NO rodent problem, even if the Laundry Room Mafia ladies said they saw a few quick scamperings while their salvo of gossip swirled the stagnant hot laundry room air.

There has long been a legend in the building of a prostitute that took up shop at the darkened edge of the lot. A large elm tree spread it’s branches and leaves over a large section, encasing the trunk and roots in deep shadows. A few coming-in-late dwellers said they were approached for “a date” by a young woman. She was tall in her stilettos, leggy and curvy in “all the right places” (said one of the husbands in the building, who asked to remain anonymous). All the tales said she was rebuked and sent on her way but prying eyes saw, some car tops had distinct imprints,  and the police came and reports were made, but this intruder was never caught.

She came in on an evening breeze, a pistil to the desires of the movements of the stamen, and like pollen, she only lasted so long.