Wednesday Night

On Wednesday, I sat next to a very sweet man on the train on my way home. He sat next to me to protect me, he said, from the slightly…okay, he was dead drunk…short toothless man who kept calling me hot mommy. Who says I can’t get a date?

He found the terrier interesting, as many do, and he was among the many who petted her and worshiped her. I’m seriously thinking of starting a religion; we may make enough to pay for a flat in Tribeca. From Canal to 168th, all during our ride on the A train, he brought up his 16 year old cat, who was blind and deaf. He bathed her once a week with baby wipes…he said she liked to be clean, and was too feeble to take care of herself anymore. He had an endearing face.

He lives in a pre-War building, in a six room rent controlled apartment. Now, any New Yorker will start drooling at any of those words. When they hear ‘rent controlled’, a mild heart attack may occur, and when they hear he pays $100 a month for this amazing find, that it has a super on the premises, and that it has an elevator to take him to his fifth floor wonder of a place, they may offer to divorce whatever spouse they have to marry him only to dwell there. Either sex would seriously consider this as a viable solution to their renter’s woes.

His grandparents had lived there, then his parents, and now he lives there alone with the blind cat. He has all of the original furniture, even the perfect piano his grandmother brought over from England a long time ago. He doesn’t play, he said he wasn’t smart enough to learn, but, his mother could, and he would sit and lean against the instrument to feel it when she did.

He told me about the rich woods on all the pieces of furniture, how he polishes everything every Sunday, to keep it in shape. The kitchen has the same appliances; he keeps them in perfect running order. He’s not moved a thing since he inherited the place ten years ago and his parents never changed anything, either. The same wallpaper, same furniture…new slipcovers, but, that’s it. Hardwood floors, oriental carpets… I could see it in my head.

He looks out over the city, he said. He likes his apartment, it’s all he knows. The landlord regularly offered him a very large sum of money to move. He said it was enough he could move to Florida or something, and live there. His problem was, he’d have to sell the furniture. He was an only child, and there was no one who wanted it and no one he wanted to have these things. So, he stayed, content with his new TV, his cat, his Friday nights at the bar with his friends he’s known all his 50 years. It’s a good life for him. He had a girlfriend once, he said…she had a nice smile.

He wore very thick glasses, unusual accessories, considering his profession. He was a Master painter, specialising in air brushing…the delicate scenes you see on walls in restaurants and such. He told me he’d been given a new job that day, he was going to take his crew and paint the walls of a new exclusive dining club, members only. It was to be done in the muslin style, he said. I thought he said Mussolini meant the dictator, and wondered if it would include him hanging upside down.

Not exactly an appetizing sight when you are eating, but, to each his own.

He explained, no, it was a type of air brush, with the usual Roman scenes…they had 100 hours to do this work, and if he finished on time, which he expected to do, he’d make a $5K bonus. With that, he was going to England on a boat. He always wanted to take a boat to England. We talked about that country, and we discussed the things I knew; places to go, things to do. He’d never been there, but, he was going because he wanted real fish and chips, and a real pint. His eyes glowed behind their thick lenses with the excitement of being on a boat, eating with the Captain, seeing England where his family was from those decades ago.

His big worry was the cat. He asked what I charged to be his PA. He asked if I wanted to rent a room from him, so we could get to know each other and the cat could be comfortable with me.

I told him although I thought he was very nice, I was moving from the area, and it wasn’t something I wanted to do at this time. His face fell; he scratched the terrier, and said he felt comfortable around us. I wanted to help him. My heart hurt and my eyes welled up. I felt horrible that for once in my life, I said no.

We arrived at his stop….he suddenly hugged me and patted my back. I wished him luck and shouted to not forget to try mushy peas.

The train pulled out and I could see him walking away, slumped shouldered as he was when he sat next to me. The landlord would get his apartment eventually, all the furniture would be sold, and the piano would play elsewhere.

I kinda wish I’d not said no. I kinda wish I’d taken his name, maybe offered to stay with the cat. I kinda wish I’d remembered to give him the advice to practice falling face forward, in case he dies before the cat. In the end, no matter how much we love them, we’re just protein to them.

And, they eat your eyes first.