is waif
FERRA
Ferra liked watching people live. It made her feel like she was part of something. Obviously, she was not. Life rolls in and life rolls out. Life is like a roll of paper towels with a nice, ordinary design printed on it and the people taking the ride don’t often enjoy being observed.
Ferra, unfortunately, did not understand this.
Soon, people started taking note. It’s hard not to notice when someone is standing quite close as you are kissing another person or fucking around with your belly-button ring or something. Ferra’s hair was a bright, buttered-yam orange and she wore it in a ball on the top of her head secured with a single pale birch knitting needle. This made Ferra very noticeable. Noticeability is something many people strive to achieve but it’s not so great when your favorite activity requires that no one see you. People saw Ferra and Ferra made them angry.
Ferra had started wearing her hair in the ball, stuck with the single knitting needle several years back and her mother had noted that Ferra’s head had begun to resemble a ball of yarn. This was easy to brush off and attribute to her mother’s penchant for knitting great scratchy lap quilts in her spare time, but after a while Ferra began to see the resemblance herself.
“is there a problem in the building?”
Perhaps it was this that made Ferra so immune to the odd stares and cruel glances she got whenever she was caught watching people living. As a self-identified knitting basket, it was outrageous that anybody would care if she watched them live out their messy day-to-days. Yarn is friendly and bland. No one cares is a ball of yarn watches them put their tongue in someone else’s mouth for example.
Ferra asked her neighbor Lilly-Anne if there was an issue in the building. She was afraid of asking the question because it seemed so revealing. Surely a woman such as Ferra, one who wore her hair in a ball with a single birch knitting needle stuck through it would not care if people in her apartment building were angry with her. But Lilly-Anne was next door and absent- minded enough that she would probably forget the whole thing. Some people forget everything you tell them. At least this is what they want you to believe.
Ferra stopped Lilly-Anne as Lilly-Anne was exiting her apartment to take the elevator downstairs. She was with her miniscule son who was probably named Robert. Ferra stepped up close enough to Lilly-Anne so that Lilly-Anne would know she wanted to talk but not so close that Lilly-Anne would startle and run off. Lilly-Anne was tiny and blonde and her grey eyes were much too big for her tea cup face.
Can I ask you a question? Ferra said.
Lilly-Anne smiled with her little pearl teeth held slightly apart so that it almost looked like she could be crying. She was wearing a small white cashmere coat with a thick, well made belt. Ferra thought for 34/50 of a second about buying something white. It might offset her hair a little bit.
Sure. Lilly-Anne said.
Is there a problem in the building? asked Ferra.
Robert pulled on his mother’s smaller-than-life hand. Lilly-Anne was wearing a pair of white cashmere mittens that matched her white cashmere coat. It suddenly struck Ferra that she had never before seen an adult woman wearing mittens.
Are people, like, upset with me? asked Ferra again, this time with a splash of what she hoped was girlish flippancy.
Of course not, said Lilly-Anne, and she smiled again, that strange, half-crying smile and then was gone as she was pulled down the hall by Robert who was wearing the miniature suit and tie that came with his downtown private school.
An interesting thing to note is that from behind, Lilly-Anne and her son appeared exactly the same size. Their matching blond hair bounced healthily as they marched down the hall away from Ferra; from afar the two could easily be the well-dressed children of pro-gun Republican aristocracy. Ferra wondered if maybe Lilly-Anne and Robert were actually brother and sister. She hadn’t looked at either of them very closely. Did Lilly-Anne have laugh lines? Or crows feet? Ferra couldn’t remember. She could only remember vague, general things, like primary colors and the shape of cats in the dark and the sound of people kissing.
She went back inside her apartment.
Complaints were circling the apartment building about the yam- haired woman who always seemed to appear when two people were trying to kiss each other on the mouth.
When the manager of the building got complaints, he became deeply enraged. This was because the building manager was a man of many deep thoughts and couldn’t waste brain space on trivial things like leaking faucets and karaoke machines being too loud. To prevent letters of complaint, the building manager’s mailbox was fastened with a small sturdy tin lock which he had purchased from a hardware store called Screw It On which was about three miles from the apartment building. Sometimes parts of the light up neon sign attached to the front of Screw It On went out and the sign instead read Screw It, or simply, on rare and special occasions, Screw.
The building manager found this vaguely amusing, but only as amusing as one would find a baby blowing a bubble of mucus from his nose. He was not a man who frequented hardware stores; rather, as has been noted, he was a man of deep thoughts and also; dry brandy. He’d simply needed a small, secure lock with which to close his mailbox so that no one would send him letters of complaint. In planning his visit to Screw It On, the building manager had a clear vision of what he wanted. What he wanted was a lock that came with a small paper-thin tin key which he planned to fasten around his neck with a length of cord. The building manager, while being a man of deep thoughts, was also a man who valued keys.
Unfortunately, Screw It On did not stock small locks with keys. They only carried combination locks that closed with codes. The building manager was forced to satisfy himself with a lock that required the input of a short, easy to remember word in order to open. The word assigned to the building manager’s lock was “SHAR”.
Lilly-Anne had sent a letter of complaint to the building manager because everyone else in the building was doing it. She did have a personal complaint against Ferra though. On a small, insignificant, barely memorable occasion, Lilly- Anne had decided to kiss a young man named Franklin in the elevator. This thought had come about after many months of noticing Franklin around the apartment building. He was medium-sized and had long, feminine eyelashes, a short, temporary blonde pigtail at the nape of his neck, and a sparse goatee. Lilly-Anne had timed her daily afternoon trot down the sidewalk so that her return (thirty-eight minutes after leaving) would coincide with Franklin’s return from his gym/hookah lounge.
Lilly-Anne was a meticulous time-keeper. She and Franklin stepped into the elevator at exactly the same time. As Franklin’s mouth (wet and tasting of hookah smoke and blue flavored energy drink) mashed against her meticulously painted red lips, the elevator doors opened and a stick-bug of a woman with a ball of yarn on her head strode in.
Don’t mind me, she said.
That ended everything and several months later Franklin left the apartment building to work for a dumpster diving tech startup in a bigger city. (Tech-ster: Your trash, our algorithms, one radical identity theft!)
What is the meaning of “SHAR”? thought the building manager.
Ferra was growing increasingly agitated. No one had told her what was going on in the building. Lilly-Anne’s elusive answer, of course not, meaning, of course not, no one is mad at you, only served to convince Ferra that there was definitely something going on. Ferra was oblivious, or at least, this is what Ferra told herself.
She decided to bring it up with the building manager himself. She also really had to speak with him because she had returned from her morning walk to find an eviction notice taped to the front door of her apartment. This was shocking. Ferra was not the kind of woman who was evicted from things. She had never been asked to leave an establishment of any kind.
Once Franklin had been asked to leave the gym because he smelled too much like Acai-flavored Juul.
The building manager spoke to Ferra through his door. His voice was muffled and crackly with annoyance. What eviction notice? asked the building manager in a barely-rehearsed monotone which revealed his lie without even masking it in passive aggression.
I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, stated Ferra with the calm confidence her mother had always told her she lacked.
Jesus. I really can’t discuss this, said the building manager and through the door Ferra could hear a click-click-click as if he was twisting something made out of tin.
By the by, said the building manager, have you any idea of what “SHAR” means?
No, said Ferra and sniffed because that was her method for keeping the tears in.
It’s really odd, said the building manager. It’s really an odd conundrum. He had heard the word conundrum a lot. He’d always played around with the idea of trying it out and found he was rather good at it.
May I come in and speak with you, sir? asked Ferra and she could hear the sound of the building manager rolling around in his office chair.
It’s a predicament, said the building manager, finding that every word he said sounded even better. Maybe it was the strange, forlorn woman on the other side of the door, silently encouraging him with her recondite brown eyes. Ferra’s eyes were an anemic green. They were growing damp.
There was a long stretch of silence as Ferra wept and the building manager rolled around in his office chair with a melancholy little half-smile on his cracked Grecian lips.
If I pay more rent will you let me stay in my apartment? Ferra finally asked. Her voice lost its feminine curvature at the end of the phrase and the sudden monotone made her sound deeply, irreversibly annoyed.
The building manager was irritated that he could no longer picture Ferra as gentle and elusive.
Very well he said. Then; no, actually, Ms., you have been getting complaints and I have no choice but to evict you.
He regretted saying it. He could have said, you can stay in the stable, madame, for there is no room in the inn. But what if the woman he was speaking with was Jewish? Perhaps then she would be offended by his use of New Testament analogies.
The building manager wondered if he had a religion and if he did what it was.
I’ve lived here for seventeen years said Ferra, I’ve lived here for seventeen years. She repeated it so that he would understand. I like your building, said Ferra, it’s damp but I like it. I know it.
She paused as the building manager spun in his chair.
I’ll do anything, said Ferra. Just don’t say I’m a bad person. Just let me stay in my apartment.
The building manager decided he would become a Buddhist.
Am I a bad person? asked Ferra, finding that this was the main thing after all.
Of course not, said the building manager.
* * *
“Of course not” is a phrase that does not address the issue, Ferra told her mother over the telephone. Ferra’s mother snorted a little and said, Don’t overreact, Squirt.
That was Ferra’s mother’s tactic. It was not one of a critical listener. Ferra tried not to let this bother her.
Besides, said Ferra, I’m being evicted.
Well, that’s too bad, said Ferra’s mother whose daughter was no longer her dependent.
Mother, said Ferra, please honestly tell me; am I a bad person?
Of course not, said Ferra’s mother.
The building manager had not yet done anything to force Ferra from her apartment. He had given her the proper two weeks notice and then he had waited.
Now two weeks had passed and the time had come to act. The building manager found that he was rather looking forward to acting. With a visceral relish as though he was biting into a rich medjool date the building manager strode to the front of Ferra’s apartment. This time it was he who spoke through a door. Ms. (said the building manager loudly).
Ms., he said again because he had never learned Ferra’s name.
I am not going to leave, said Ferra.
Huh, said the building manager. He looked at the grey- brown-yellow door of Ferra’s apartment. It reminded him of cat bile and of dreams. It made the building manager think about lying in a large yellow meadow of daisies, of disappearing into the daisies, of someone passionately pinning him down in the daisies-
I’m simply here to assess, said the building manager, to peruse and pursue.
Pursue what? said Ferra.
Don’t sue me for pervertedness, said the building manager, I simply wanted to make sure you weren’t…
Weren’t what? said Ferra.
The building manager picked a paint scab on Ferra’s door. He considered his loneliness and lack of purpose and the taste of the medjool date suddenly melted away.
Oh, just dead, said the building manager with the deep Southern passive aggression his mother had taught him.
There was a moment of deep silence and then Ferra yelled the word LEAVEMEALONE.
And the building manager said the word bitch.
And then he left.
In a strange turn of events, when Ferra stepped outside she saw Lilly-Anne sitting outside her own apartment which was several doors down. Ferra pretended she was watering a plant so Lilly-Anne would not think Ferra was stalking her.
Lilly-Anne wore what appeared to be a child’s summer play frock. One of the narrow white straps had slipped over her translucent wing-like shoulder and she sat next to her front door staring ahead, grey lemur eyes glazed like ceramic. Her legs were pulled up to her chin as though she was a young French girl named Marie.
Ferra lightly watered the carpet outside her apartment because she did not have a plant. Her last one had been stolen and the one before that had died because Ferra had tried to make it into a pesto. She gradually made her way over to where Lilly- Anne sat. Ferra watered as she went.
When she looked down at Lilly-Anne, Lilly-Anne did not look up. Ferra tried not to let any water splash on Lilly-Anne’s play frock, but some still did.
Hello there, said Ferra. I’m wondering if you have a moment to chat. Lilly-Anne did not respond.
Do you hate me? asked Ferra. She had decided to cut to the chase. It’s fine if you do. I just want to know why. I don’t want to be hated. Mainly, I don’t want to be a bad person.
Lilly-Anne still did not respond. Ferra decided a secret reveal was needed.
I watch people kiss each other said Ferra.
Purposefully.
It occurred to her that Lilly-Anne might be dead. Ferra prodded Lilly-Anne’s child- sized upper arm with the spout of her watering can and Lilly-Anne tipped over as though she was a sedentary antique lamp. Ferra watered Lilly-Anne’s healthy blonde hair with the watering can and found herself shocked and choking up when the hair grew stringy and brown from the water.
Lilly-Anne would not move. Ferra decided that her best course of action would be to leave Lilly-Anne sprawled limply on the carpet outside her apartment.
Ferra went inside.
The building manager called his mother and told her he had discovered a new word. He hoped it would make up for not going to Yale.
The building manager’s mother thought he was talking about refurbishing another fucking flea-market chair and hung up.
Ferra left Lilly-Anne outside for approximately seventy three minutes. In that time she cooked herself a large meal of mushroom ravioli and drew a picture of two people kissing in charcoal pencil.
Then she decided that she did not want Lilly-Anne to die.
The doctor had gone to Yale. He was only somewhat surprised to see a basket of yarn carrying a child in a play frock into the ER.
Ferra signed some paperwork and sat stiffly in a plastic chair to wait for Lilly- Anne to be declared dead or alive. She entertained herself by eating a small plastic bag of shelled peanuts. She threw them one-by-one into the air and caught them in her mouth. They were salty and thick on her tongue so she drank water from a communal water fountain near the men’s restroom. Some of the chewed up peanuts fell out when she opened her mouth to let the water in.
She called her mother and her mother did not answer.
A man approached Ferra and looked pointedly at her ankles. Ferra had never thought much about her ankles so she looked down at them. They were cream-colored and streaked with pale yam-colored hairs. It occurred to Ferra that maybe she should shave her ankles. She looked up at the man and he gave her a long, slow wink.
Ferra felt nauseated. It occurred to her that watching people kiss each other might be similar to the man’s apparently deeply satisfied analysis of her ankles. Ferra decided she would ask the man a question. She said, why are you looking at my ankles? And the man said, you are a pretty woman, sweetheart. He said it like he was the only one who knew this about Ferra. It occured to Ferra that perhaps he was. This thought made Ferra feel as though maybe she would like to throw herself off a roof.
No, I am not, said Ferra. She found that deciding one way or the other felt better than accepting the compliment. She ate some more peanuts and chewed with her mouth open. She hoped this would encourage the man to leave but he did not. Instead he stepped closer to Ferra. He sat down in the plastic chair that was next to her.
I might wanna taste some of those peanuts, said the man. Ferra ate the peanuts faster so he would see that she was almost out.
Outta your mouth, said the man. He smiled, like he was the only one in the world who would enjoy eating chewed up peanuts out of another person’s mouth. Ferra swallowed the peanuts in her mouth and scraped their gluey residue from her gums. She did this very quickly.
Sorry, said Ferra, but I swallowed them.
Lilly-Anne was declared alive. Ferra was told to follow a male nurse in teal into Lilly-Anne’s hospital room. Ferra did not want to go. She went.
Lilly-Anne was propped up on a mountain of pillows so pale they matched her skin. Her healthy blond hair was sweaty and mouse brown. Ferra found herself self-consciously pushing her own yam-colored hair behind her ears.
Lilly-Anne glanced her way.
Good morning, said Ferra. The greeting was inaccurate but served to cast a glow. The glow was colorful hair clips, construction paper, and glasses of milk. Lilly-Anne did not smile but she felt the glow. It made her feel like a child again for a split second.
I think you were injured, said Ferra. Or maybe you didn’t eat breakfast.
She paused.
I could make you some breakfast.
It was a statement glazed in pride.
Lilly-Anne did not respond. She looked at Ferra for a long moment. Ferra sat on the edge of Lilly-Anne’s bed and smiled friendly-like
There was a piece of paper pinned to the front of Screw it On several days later that only a few people took notice of. The paper was thin and grey and had been printed out from a black and white printer with a scratch on the glass that left a lighting bolt shape on the paper, obscuring several vital letters. The notice was almost impossible to read but if you squinted your eyes would fill in the missing letters.
The building manager did this. He stared at the sign with a scowl on his face. The scowl was meant to resemble the expression of Dust Bowl-era sharecropper. The building manager hoped that this sort of expression would Mean Something; if not now, then some day.
Recalled, said the notice, all coded padlocks due to nonsense.
Fuck, said the business manager, and he spit a small piece of phlegm at the sign.
We’re fine, said Lilly-Anne, We’re fine. We’re alright.
Thank you, she said, I could have died. My baby could have died.
Lilly-Anne touched her stomach to indicate the presence of something within it. Ferra nodded. She could not nod like a woman who understood but she could nod like a woman who could grasp a concept so she did.
In any case, said Ferra, I apologize for any confusion on my part. Or yours, she added to even things out.
Yes, said Lilly-Anne.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, said Ferra. Probably a lot.
Lilly-Anne smiled (sickly but surprisingly warm) and leaned forward to kiss Ferra on the forehead with parched lips.
Fuck, said the building manager again, I thought I’d discovered something new.