The People of Valleyview Apartments #2
shoulders, and stringy beige hair. His uncertain walk, the way his eyes are two wide-open beacons . . . Oh my god, it’s the
Incel in 1A! I’d almost forgotten he existed. I’ve seen him leave exactly two times in the five years we’ve both lived here.
Once, because his grocery delivery guy couldn’t get our finicky buzzer to work; the other, I caught him running out of the
laundry room—he left the smell of musty hair sebum in his wake (and I had to stare at the floor for a bit to cope with this
violation). I’m sure he’s left his unit more than that, but I can’t be positive . . .
He and the firefighter make their way out the door, and all our gazes crawl their way. “Well, I’ll be,” grunts Old White Perve.
1A brushes his stringy hair back and glances our way, a panicked look seeping into his widening eyes. His gait is awkward
and he’s shaking a bit. He has an anxious, depressing aura—in fact, he seems to be doing exactly the opposite of whatever
“lighting up a room” would be. He glares toward Weird Girl Beside Me . . . very Incel. If this were the ’90s, he’d channel
his energy into taking a ferret or lizard out in public, and we’d all be better off.
Weird Girl Beside Me’s cat lets out a loud and distressed meow, and she shifts the fur ball from one shoulder to the other
while the cat meows again. “She hasn’t eaten yet this morning and probably hates me for taking her out of my place,” she says
to nobody in particular. A few red scratch lines from her cat have gathered on her neck.
Old White Perve saunters over (there’s no better way to describe his walk even though it makes me feel like shit).
He weaves past 1A Incel and kneels close to Weird Girl Beside Me.
Then OWP’s smile twists all creepy as he reaches his hand out to her.
I brace myself for unknown reasons as he opens his mouth to speak.
“Want me to hold your cat while you take a minute?”
Weird Girl Beside Me must be desperate, because she nods stiffly and hands the cat over. OWP pets the cat gently on the forehead,
and the cat nuzzles in return. Trust a guy named Old White Perve to make the rest of us look less than considerate.
Then he blurts, “Such a cute little pussycat.”
And I take it all back.
1A Incel wipes his palms over his arms like the gentle breeze is disturbing him. He scans the crowd, and his eyes narrow on
Weird Girl Beside Me . . . again.
These people. This isn’t a normal fire alarm for a normal building.
Another set of sirens joins the foray. This time it’s a medic, and the inside of my mouth goes dry. I hold my breath as they
pull out a gurney, systematically set it up, and wheel it inside as if they’ve done it a thousand times. Which, yeah, I’m
sure they have. I stare at the door, willing it to reopen with a still-alive Irene.
“Hey, guys, hope you’re all okay. Please help yourselves to coffee.” I turn to see where this upbeat intrusion is coming from.
Diner Loudmouth has appeared behind us with a tray of paper coffee cups and a bag of pastries. He’s got dark, shiny hair spilling
out of his backward baseball cap that he’s always wearing with the diner’s name written on it. He’s in a navy apron and fitted
T-shirt, and, if I’m being honest, he’s really wearing it. He might be too chatty for my liking, but he does have good arms. The guy makes his way through our disjointed
groups on the lawn, smiling and nodding at Fighting Couple before walking over to Divorced Dad, who plucks one of the coffees
from his tray.
“Norm! How are you, buddy?” Diner Loudmouth continues toward 1A Incel. “You doing okay?” He holds up a paper bag. “My mom made some fresh banana muffins this morning.” He slaps the muffin bag into Incel’s limp hand. “So, is there a fire?”
“I don’t know about that, but somebody destroyed the lobby.” This comes from Weird Girl Beside Me.
“Seriously?” His brows weave together. “Why would someone do that?”
An excellent question, really. I avert my eyes just as the front door pushes open. At once we all direct our gazes to the
entrance. The pit in my stomach solidifies as the stretcher appears in the doorway again, guided by a medic on each end of
it.
Irene’s sitting up high rather than lying down. Her grey hair isn’t as fluffed as usual, but she otherwise appears alert and
normal.
Diner Loudmouth rushes toward them. “Irene! Are you okay?”
“I’m in a stretcher,” she replies, voice weak as they wheel her down the concrete path.
He turns to a medic with a shiny bob. “What happened?”
She angles her bob his way and says, “She had a fall in the stairwell while evacuating. Looks like a simple ankle injury.
Her vitals are looking good.” Her face softens. “She’ll be okay.”
Relieved exhales and hums pull through our small group as they load Irene into the back of the ambulance. Everyone waves her
off, some offering promises to visit. The ambulance lights turn on, but no sirens play as it pulls around the corner and out
of sight.
A moment later the mustached firefighter comes out of the building and calls, “Good morning, folks. I’m Greg Mathers. I thank
you for your cooperation and patience as we responded to the alarm. Your homes will be cleared to return to once my colleagues
finish resetting the detection devices.”
“So, was there a fire?” Old White Perve asks.
Mathers shakes his head. “Not exactly. It appears that an outlet in the lobby got some water in it and started to smoke. The
breaker should have tripped, but luckily the fire alarm caught it before anything worse happened. Pretty common in these old buildings that haven’t had their electrical systems updated.”
“Water in an outlet? You mean from the vandal?” This comes from Divorced Dad.
This is bad.
Mathers nods. “It looks like quite a bit of water was spilled in the area near the lobby table where all the mess was.”
Holy shit. The vase I broke, it caused all this?
I take a deep breath through my stale mouth. I not only trashed the lobby and wrote a rude memo on the whiteboard, I almost
caused a fire and I made Irene go to the hospital. This is bad bad.
Eyes draw around our group suspiciously. I try my best to remain neutral, but I swallow down a gulp.
At best I’ll be evicted for this. With no steady job standing to secure a new place in this market, it’ll be rough. But at
worst . . . What if I get charged with a crime? I swore I’d never make my mom go through that again—picking someone up from
jail.
The fireman continues, “We’ll be following up with your landlord about a wiring inspection when she’s up for it.” His cheek
curls up. “It’s actually good this issue was caught this way rather than something worse.” He looks up the length of the building.
“These old buildings, they’re—”
“Are you going to investigate who started the fire? What about the footage from the lobby camera?” Weird Girl Beside Me asks,
arms crossed.
Here’s where my life as I know it ends. It feels like I’m watching it all in slow motion.
Mather’s eyes draw to her. “My colleague did check. Looks like the hard drives were too full to record new footage, so the
camera hasn’t been functional for some time. That would be another thing that needs updating.”
It takes a moment for the good news to reach the right part of my brain.
Holy shit.
I’m somehow . . . saved? It’s like a hurricane warning has switched to a low wind. I wipe my forehead with the sleeve of my
shitty bathrobe. I didn’t realize how much I’d been sweating.
My life isn’t completely fucked. If can get away with this mess, I can redeem it all. My career, my pride, everything—I still
have a fighting chance. From now on, I’ll be very nice to Irene. I’ll send her flowers and be a model tenant. I’ll—
A tap on my arm, light but firm.
I turn and Diner Loudmouth’s dark eyes burn into me, his jaw set. He has this way of focusing on everyone he talks to like
they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “You like it just black, right?” He’s holding the tray of coffee out for
me. And suddenly, a flash of fuzzy memory returns to my hungover stupid head.
“Thanks.” I take a coffee and will myself to smile. His forearm tattoo confirms it: a realistic black and shaded wishbone—I
recognize it from when he helped me stand up last night.
“Sure,” he mutters, seeming to suppress whatever expression his face truly desires. “Feel better.” And then he turns to greet
Uniform Family.
And that’s when the memories take full shape.
I should’ve just gone home after my Uber dropped me off, but my head was only thinking about cheese fries, so instead of disappearing
from society for the night like a dignified person, I went to the fucking diner and said words to this man. Words I no longer
remember, but I went on for a while. I think. I know I stumbled at some point, and he held me up and I . . . don’t know what
else.
People start filing back into the building.
Diner Loudmouth has finished giving coffees to Uniform Family. As he tucks the now empty tray under his arm, his eyes make
their way to me again, as if sensing me watching. I quickly look away, but not before clocking the curious look on his face.
He knows it was me. He has to.
He walks up to Old White Perve. “Hey, Carmen, someone really trashed the lobby?”
Old White Perve/Carmen replies, “Yes, it’s real bullshitty too, Sami. Come have a look-see.”