Saturday, June 02, 2012

Goodbye, Desperado

One evening, about two weeks ago now, I came home to find Desperado moving out. He and an older man were carrying boxes down the stairs.

I hadn't seen him since that morning he stepped hand-cuffed into a police van. He looked late-30s then, mid-40s now.

"I'm movin' out, mate," he said with a wincing smile.

"Oh. OK", I said, searching for that thing to say.

"Yeah. I hope the next person doesn't play music as loud as I do."

"Oh, I'm sorry about all that", I said, still searching.

"No, don't worry. Has it been better the last couple of months? I've been trying to keep it down."

"Yeah, it's been fine", I lied.

"It's just the flooring. Goes straight through the hard wood."


"It's not the flooring," said the older man, "it's you playing your bloody music too loud!" He faked a clip round the ear with an invisible, rolled-up newspaper.

"It was the flooring, Dad. Taking up that carpet was the worst decision." Desperado shook his head ruefully. "Anyway, take care, mate."

"Yeah, you too, mate." I opened my door and went inside, not having come remotely close to finding that thing to say.


Helen said...

I was happy before I read this.

Jules said...

I know, I'm sorry. Though it was sadder being there.

bitingmidge said...

I'm surprised you didn't point those speakers of yours down towards the street, fire up the keyboard, and give him a blast of "movin' out".

An opportunity lost perhaps?

Anonymous said...

Inexcusably sad, Jules.

Sweet Olive Press | Helen said...

I just accidentally read this again.
The passing of most of a year does not make it any less sad.

Jules said...

Oh, you don't need to tell me. I'm reminded of it every time I see his pile of un-redirected mail. Guh.