Friday, November 07, 2003
I apologize for the length of this, it's something that I'm still playing around with and I figured maybe this would be a good place for it. Who knows?
Today we all stayed inside. I don't think any of us felt much like going outside. Natalie was probably too shaken up from being slammed into a wall, by our abusive neighbour downstairs. Sean was probably too afraid to leave the house because of the aforementioned neighbour's threat "If I see you in the street, it's just you and me!" and I'm sure Dan was just too shaken up to do anything else, but stay inside.
Somehow we all decided that Yahtzee was the best cure for what ailed us. Granted it did take our minds off what had happened earlier in the day, but I'm sure in the back off all our minds we were wondering if the children in the downstairs apartment would be safe. It was ok for us to hide out in our living room playing Yahtzee all afternoon with the doors locked. We could remove ourselves from the situation. The children, aged 3 and 5, had no such luxury. They had to stay in that hellhole all day. I think all of us avoided going to the basement or our makeshift balcony in the weeks that followed. It was only my bike that was kept in the basement along with the leftover belongings of residents past. My one speed bike was more accurately described as possessing no speeds, with that in mind I didn't to go down to the basement to retrieve it very often. When we did descend, we could hear the children's cries and their mother's tantrums as if they were in the next room over. I guess we all stupidly and selfishly thought we could ignore them if we avoided the basement, but even in the bedrooms, the living room, kitchen and the bathroom you could hear the children cry 8 to 12 times a day.
Things were tense for the next few weeks. We found out that there was no use getting a restraining order against Phil. It seemed like a logical thing to do, we didn't want him barging into our house again and hitting and threatening us. The problem was, was that with a restraining order Phil, who was on parole, would have 2 weeks to appeal it before it came into effect. We weren't afraid of it being appealed, we were afraid of Phil. We were afraid that the prospect of going back to prison would drive Phil to either take it out on the kids or take it out on us. Our own need for self preservation kept us from doing anything more. It kept us from contacting children's services to tell them about the verbal abuse the children suffered through, the screaming, the swearing, and the daily crying. We were stupid kids working stupid stressful low paying jobs and too stupid and scared to help those kids. I found myself asking what was my place in all this? I was practically an adult, shouldn't I be able to figure things out? I always thought when it came down to it I'd be able to make the right decisions.
I eventually told my dad about what was happening with our neighbours down below. I think it really befuddled him because he struggled to come up with an answer. I wanted so bad for him to make things right, but we both knew he couldn't. The only suggestion that he could offer was to contact our landlord. My dad never seemed so mortal before. He knew I was upset and desperate and there's really little he could offer to comfort me. I was afraid that when I left the house at night for my late shift that in the dark, Phil would mistake me for Sean and kick the shit out of me or sic his bulldog on me. I'm crying because I'm a goddamn coward. I knew that he wanted to make things all ok for me, but we both knew that I'm an adult now and this is one of those situations I, I guess we, had to figure out on our own.
After talking to our landlord we were not really any further ahead than we were before. Neither the kids nor us were in any sort of enviable situation. Phil and his family would move out at the end of July. Their lease was up and would not be renewed due to a number of complaints against them unrelated to the incident in our apartment. We would get rid of the threat of violence, but what good did that do the kids? Phil would be gone at the end of July, but so too the kids. I was afraid we'd never know what would happen. I had hoped that they would move someplace where they would have better guardians in their neighbourhood. Adults who knew how to act like adults instead of scared kids. We couldn't even watch out for ourselves let alone a couple of kids.
Have you ever read The Catcher in the Rye? Do you remember the part where Holden visits his sister at school and sees the 'fuck' written on the wall? He's quite upset with the thought that kids will come and see this word and wonder what it means. He doesn't want them to be exposed to those kinds of words. It's my favorite part of the book. I didn't want Anthony and his sister to grow up worrying about whether their mom's going to send them to their room in tears after an expletive filled tirade, I did not want them to be afraid of their father, I did not want them to hear things like "Anthony! you get back here or I'll beat your ass". I wanted them to be worrying about where they might have misplaced their Lego or why Good Morning America is on instead of Blue's Clues. Maybe it's none of my business, maybe I should have just butted out and gone on about my own life. Maybe kids are suppose to go through that. Maybe I was being too soft, but I can't recall ever seeing any parent swear at their three year old.
It was a beautiful day out. Charles was barefoot and so was I. I was wearing Capri pants (or what Kathryn calls schpants, not quite shorts, not quite pants, but all fun) and we were both enjoying the last hours of sun after work. Phil's wife came around the corner. I had never seen her before so when she approached I wasn't really sure whether it was her or one of the occupants of the other apartments. She asked us if our water was working and I ran inside to check. I answered in the negative and she thanked me while she turned to walk away. She stopped and turned about in mid stride to ask if one of us was the one who told her he was going to call child services that day not so long ago. I cringed; I was worried about what was going to happen. I scrambled cowardly to find answers to appease her. I’m a piece of a shit. I told her no and that neither of us were even home that day. "Good! Because I was going to tell ya's he'll be home in five minutes so you'll probably want to be inside." It was more of a threat rather than any sort of neighbourly warning. I had a chance to do something before they moved out and I didn't. Some guardian, some Holden Caulfield (don't all boys want to grow up to be Holden Caulfield, what a dumb dream)
No grand miracle occurred. Phil, his wife, and his kids moved out. I wasn't around. I made sure of it. I spent most of my time playing baseball stars on my nintendo, trying to pitch a no hitter while listening to a stolen groundwork LP. It was a quest that kept my mind off the events of the present.
Jen and I talked about it occasionally. She was usually the most levelheaded and responsible of our little family, but she couldn't provide any answers. We talked about calling child services after they left, but we had no last name, no current address. Our chance to do something had come and gone. I think we all regretted it. Sean, maybe the most. He and I didn't speak much about it afterwards because I honestly and truly believed he was afraid for his life. Phil, the tough guy that he was, had "put him in his place." There was an unwritten rule in the house not to speak about it in the open. I guess we all loathed ourselves, our actions, and to re-open wounds was futile.
None of us were around very much in the waning days of the summer. I don't think we felt much like being a family. Before the events with Phil we used to camp out on your deck, trot the TV and VCR out, and watch movies like Spaceballs under May skies. Our family meetings usually turned into us smoking pot and laughing well into the night. August came and I found myself waking up to an empty house more and more. I did have some good times in my final days in August, but very few of them revolved around that house. It used to be such a great place, it used to feel like a home, but now because of our inaction it was a toilet that wasn't even safe to piss in.
I can't justify what we did and didn't do. I can't even speak for anyone else; I have no idea how they feel about what happened or if they even think about it. I haven't heard from any of them since the day I moved out. We were scared, plagued by human weakness and inaction. We played at being grown-ups and in the end couldn't help two kids. Fuck us.
Alex Bell Genius
Many people thee declare
Sorry I hate phones
Another Ode to AGB
dear telephone,
i'm not sure we're good together, but somehow i'm hung up on you.
love,
m
(note: this are a little slow to load, I needs ta make them smaller maybe tomorrow)
The Long Drive
Arriving In Halifax
Jim
Ger. and Scoops
A Line of Cool Kids (betcha thought I was gonna say Coke)
Love From Above
Love From Below
This Message Will Self Destruct
