*****
Beyond the Truth
Apartment 1-C
As day broke, I stood in front of my window watching as a slow, steady rain fell. I watched the raindrops bead up on the glass and slowly move downward, sometimes connecting with other drops, sometimes not. It was New Year’s Day, 1950. I was forty-one years old. Just hours ago at midnight the streets were crowded with people celebrating. Now the streets were empty. Those who were celebrating are long into their sleep. Having watched many years come and go from my apartment window, my journal is full of pages and events of my years spent there.
My name is Juanita Johnson. I live in the little town of Hearthstone in southern middle Tennessee. I’m originally from south central Kentucky, born and raised, but I have lived here since 1932. Through the years, I have patiently watched the years pass.
As I look out, I can see the town square with the courthouse slightly to my right. There are numerous stores, offices, and shops scattered about. On my left, I can partially see the train station and depot. On a typical day, the streets are busy with cars, sedans, trucks, coupes and deluxes. If you are lucky, from time to time, you will see an old 40 Nash go by.
War was going on in Europe and the world was at turmoil. As I recall, I had not been in town long. I was twenty-one, with a zest for life. I thought I had the world by the tail. I took a job at a dance hall where people paid to dance, especially soldiers away from home.
I was new in town and it was a good way to meet people. I worked six days a week and I shared a room at a boarding house outside of town, with another girl, but it wasn’t Apartment 1-C. My roommate’s name was Ellen, and we hit it off good. We had a ball back then. It was the place to have fun in those days.
Outside of town, just off exit 231 on Highway 10, was a night club called the Golden Bubble. Party! Party! Party! I was twenty-three years old. We showed no shame as we danced, trotted, swung and jitterbugged the nights away. The club had a dance floor with a live band, a bar, and a dining room with tables, booths and a jukebox. It closed at midnight. There was a motel down the road for a little getaway.
I remember some of the old songs over the years. “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” was one of my favorites, along with “Coconut Grove” and “It Was Just Like Taking Candy From A Baby” was among a few. It’s funny how old songs can bring back so many memories. It was the era of red lipstick and nails, and clip-on earrings that could cover the whole side of your face.
I remember the night when I first saw him. “What a man,” I thought! My heart raced, and my breath was swept away as I fanned myself trying to get control. I knew then; nobody had to tell me he was the one. He was dressed in his dashing uniform with his crew cut look, about 5’10”, with dark hair and green eyes. I couldn’t keep from staring. As he looked about the room, I tried not to be so obviously interested. I turned slightly, like I didn’t see him, but from the corner of my eye I watched as he approached me.
“Excuse me,” he said.
I turned and replied, “Oh, did you say something?”
He gazed into my eyes and handed me a handful of dance tickets. “We have the whole night,” he said. “My name is Kenneth Patterson.”
My face blushed and my legs nearly buckled under me as we began to dance.
“My name is Juanita Johnson,” I replied.
That night we talked and danced the night away. It was like it was meant to be. I had never met anyone like him. He was nineteen, just out of boot camp and headed for Italy. He was only in town for a couple of days, before he had to leave for Alabama and then on to Italy. It seemed like we had known each other all our lives. I didn’t want it to end, and I could tell he didn’t either. When the night ended, he walked me home. At my door, he asked if he could see me tomorrow. I agreed, because I didn’t have to be at work until three o’clock.
“Good,” he replied. “I’ll come by early, and we can spend the day together.”
He grabbed me in his arms and kissed me. I thought I was going to melt. Following through with the kiss, he slowly ran his fingers through my hair as he held my head in his hands and lightly brushed my lips once again. He faded slowly into the night; I couldn’t wait to tell Ellen. I raced upstairs to my room so full of excitement I couldn’t sleep. Floating on air, I told Ellen; she was so excited for me. We had spent hours talking about the right one, the knight in shining armor. Now I had found mine. I couldn’t believe it.
Morning came early, especially when I hadn’t had much sleep. I couldn’t wait until he arrived. I got ready, went outside, and waited on the doorstep for him. It was a beautiful day, and as I waited, I thought of what we would say to each other. I pictured his face in my mind and could still smell his cologne from last night. I felt like a teenager in love for the first time; I couldn’t help but giggle.
I turned to look as a van pulled up in front of the boarding house. The driver got out, opened the door of the van, and pulled out a beautiful bouquet of roses. He asked if I was Juanita Johnson. I replied, “Why, yes I am.” When he handed me the dozen roses, my heart stopped. I couldn’t believe it. My hands began to shake, and my mouth fell open. My eyes watered as I opened the card and read aloud, “Don’t ever let it end, Love Kenneth.” As I started to take them inside, I heard someone whistle. I stopped and turned toward the direction of the whistle. It was Kenneth. Leaping from the steps, I ran and jumped into his arms and kissed him passionately. We held each other for what seemed like hours. He picked me up and twirled me around like a childhood sweetheart.
“You shouldn’t have gotten the roses,” I said.
“You don’t like them?” he asked.
“Oh, no, I love them!”
He stopped and let me down. Looking into my eyes he said, “I believe I am falling in love with you.”
I dropped my head for a moment and paused.
He lifted my chin with his finger. My eyes filled with tears and my bottom lip began to quiver. He looked into my eyes again and whispered, “It’s okay. I know the answer.”
He touched my lips to his and I whispered, “Me too.”
Without warning, Ellen burst through the door. She quickly made her way over to us. She was running late for work.
“Ellen,” I said, “this is Kenneth.”
“Hi,” she replied as she picked at her hair.
“Kenneth, this is my roommate and best friend, Ellen,” I said.
“Glad to meet you,” he stated.
“Glad to meet you, Kenneth,” she said as she turned to me with a thumbs up. “Well, I have to run. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she laughed.
“We won’t,” I kidded.
“Girl,” replied Ellen, “bye.”
After Ellen left I invited him up to my room so I could put the flowers in a vase. Kenneth liked my room. We spent most of the morning sitting around talking. Then we left and I showed him around town. We window-shopped, bought ice cream, and caught a movie at the picture show. At the end of the day, we returned to my apartment. It wouldn’t be long before I had to go to work and he had to catch the train for Tuscaloosa.
The rest of the day, we lounged around the apartment and listened to the big bands on the radio. We both knew that in a few hours we may never see each other again. I would be left behind and he would be off to war in Europe. I couldn’t bring myself to face what I would do if anything happened to him. This was our moment, our time together, and I couldn’t allow my thoughts to tangle up my heart. A slow song came on the radio, and we danced in the middle of the floor. I gently laid my head on his shoulder as we slowly moved around the room.
My thoughts kept haunting me as I held him tighter. Slowly, he started moving his hand about my back and stroking my hair. My body was saying one thing while my mind said something else. We rested on the bed, as the music continued playing, and kissed like never before. By now nothing else seemed to
matter because we had each other. As we made out, my thoughts were not so important, but the feeling was very intense. I pulled away because I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring and I didn’t want it to end like this. I wanted it to last forever, if it could. He told me he understood and also wanted it to be the right time. Besides, our time had slipped away. I had to go to work and he had a train to catch.
“I’ll walk you to the station,” I said.
“I have to go by my room and get my things,” he replied. “You won’t be late will you?”
“No,” I answered.
We made our rounds, got his things, and waited for the train.
“I may never see you again,” he said, “but I’ll always remember you and our time together. I don’t know from one moment to the next in the army where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing.”
“I’ll miss you so much and here’s my address,” I cried. “We can write each other to keep in touch.”
“Sure,” he replied, “we’ll see each other again. Hey,” he said as he heard the train approaching the station, “save a dance for me.”
I cried, wanting him to stay with me forever. As I looked into his eyes, I saw tears filling up in the corners.
“All aboard!” yelled the conductor.
Quickly, people started boarding the train.
“Last call,” shouted the conductor, “All aboard!”
Kenneth reached back once more, kissed me, and jumped onto the train. I cried and waved. One of the hardest things I had ever done was to let him go. Slowly, the train pulled out of the station. I waved until it was out of sight. Looking at my watch, I had just enough time to get to work, and I cried every step of the way. The haunting words you’ll never see him again echoed in my mind. I didn’t look back because I wanted to remember us the way we were.
That night at work, I couldn’t keep my mind off of him. Every dance I danced I envisioned him holding me once again. I struggled through the night and finally made it home and went to sleep.
“Wake up, girl!” shouted Ellen. “Juanita, wake up! I’ve got something to tell you!”
Slowly, I rolled over as Ellen looked at me and said, “Girl, you look awful. He’s gone isn’t he?”
I shook my head.
“He’ll be back,” she encouraged.
“Maybe,” I replied.
Ellen told me she was moving to Nashville to start a new job. I didn’t know what to say. I was happy for her. But I didn’t want her to go.
“Will you be alright, girl?” she asked.
“Sure, I’ll be fine,” I replied.
The next few days would be the hardest days of my life, worrying about Kenneth and Ellen.
The weekend arrived and Ellen and I said our goodbyes. After Ellen moved out I moved into an apartment on the town square, apartment 1-C in Morningside Towers. It was a one-bedroom apartment with a living room, kitchen, and bath. My apartment was on the third floor with a great window view of the town.
It had been several weeks and I hadn’t heard anything from Kenneth. I began to think I had read something into the picture that wasn’t there. Maybe I had put my heart out there to get broken. But it had seemed so good, real, and natural.
I did everything I could to stay busy and keep my mind off Kenneth. I was doing fine until one night Kenneth walked in the door of the dance hall. My heart literally stopped and I froze in my tracks. As he made his way over to me, I ran toward him. When we met, we kissed and hugged. Oh, God, we were so happy to see each other. My body quivered in his arms as he softly breathed in my ear, “I love you.” We made our way over to a table and sat down. We kissed some more, held hands, and began to talk. He told me he was on a furlough and couldn’t stay long. He would leave for New York tonight and then go overseas.
“I had to see you before I left,” he said. “These last few weeks have about driven me crazy.”
“But you’re here now,” I said. “We have this time together, if we never have it again.”
I told him to wait a few minutes and I would be back. I asked the other girls if they would cover for me. They said they would. I ran back to the table to get him and we went back to my apartment. We didn’t have more than a few hours together, but we made the best of it. Our souls burned for each other and our bodies ached with passion. It would be a night that I would always remember. The time seemed to fly. He asked me if I wanted to walk him to the train station. I told him I couldn’t go through that again. I couldn’t stand there and watch him leave, knowing I may never see him again. He seemed to understand because it was hard for him, too. As we walked toward the door, he grabbed me and kissed me goodbye. He turned, stopped, and said, “Will you….”
“Kenneth, will I what?” I inquired.
“Will you wait for me?” he asked.
I told him I would. As the door shut behind him, I went to the window and watched him walk down the street and disappear. My crying drowned out the sound of the train leaving the station. Something inside me that night told me I would never see him again. I fought back the feeling as I told myself he’d be back some day.
Time went on and we kept in touch with letters. I got one nearly every week. I quit the dance hall and started working in a factory that made parts for the military. I worked there for two years. Things were going well. His letters sounded good for both of us. However, the distance took a tremendous toll on us. It would pay off in the end, if we ended up together. That’s all that mattered to me.
Three years later when I was twenty-six, my mother died of a heart attack. She was the last of my family. Daddy had died when I was little, and I had no brothers or sisters. It’s a hard thing losing your mother. It takes time, a lot of time, to accept it. She died of a heart attack and never knew what hit her. It was hard to give her up. She’s better off now, I believe. At least she won’t have to suffer. She left me with an inheritance that I could live on for the rest of my life. With part of the money, I bought a new 1936 Plymouth and put the rest in savings.
From apartment 1-C I saw the world pass me by. I don’t even know why I bought the car; I didn’t really need it. I guess I thought it would cheer me up.
I spent countless hours looking out the window watching the depot, looking for Kenneth. The months passed and the letters continued, until suddenly they stopped. Week after week I checked the mail, but there were no letters. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing I could do. I didn’t know his family, so I didn’t know where to start looking. All I could do was wait and worry. Day after day, I waited and prayed. I watched the depot constantly but there was no sign of him. I fell into a deep depression, slept most of the time, and withdrew from society.
My hurt made me a recluse and I would spend the rest of my life in apartment 1-C. I hired a little boy, fourteen year old John Marshall, to run errands for me. I agreed to pay him well for his help. I didn’t want any more dealings with the outside world. I was waiting to die. He was the only person I saw from the outside world. He would always ask how I was doing and when I asked him he would always reply, “Tolerable.”
“Am I losing my mind?” I screamed. The hurt, anger, and not knowing was getting the best of me.
Finally, I received a letter from one of Kenneth’s friends. He said Kenneth had been gassed in North Africa. He was missing in action and when he was found he was barely alive. He had to be dug out of the sand. He was hospitalized in Italy for two weeks before being shipped to a larger military hospital in France. He would probably be in the hospital there for at least a year.
I thanked God that he was all right. I wanted to see him and be with him so badly, but there was nothing I could do. I wrote letter after letter, but he never responded. There had to be something else wrong. Then about two months later, I wrote his friend and asked if there was something else he didn’t tell me. He wrote me back and told me Kenneth had gotten
married a week ago to a woman who had been his nurse. He was sorry that I had to find out that way. But, Kenneth wanted him to tell me.
At that moment, my world stopped. I pulled myself into a shell and stayed there. I don’t think my heart ever beat again after that. The hurt was so bad I could hardly bear it. I became so angry I couldn’t stand myself. I wanted to die. I wanted to kill him. I had no desire to ever set foot out into the world again.
The year was 1940. I had lived as a recluse for the past four years. I wanted to shut the world out and I did. I was thirty-one, the backside of thirty. I never heard another word from Kenneth or his friend. To me, Kenneth had died. The pain of love can be a devastating thing. It can cause you to do some crazy things. I wanted to die and get out of it all. He made his choice and I made mine. I’d make it some way somehow, but it would be without the help of the world. It would be lonely at times. But I could always look out the window and see more than I wanted to see.
Life can be cruel at times. I spend most of my time sleeping. I don’t have any contact with anyone except John Marshall, and I rarely see him. But when I do, we both ask each other how it’s going, and he says he’s “tolerable,” which is more than I can say. He leaves everything at the door. I slip him an envelope under the door. He asks from time to time how I’m doing and I seldom answer. John Marshall is good to me. He has become a loyal friend. When he gets a little older, I’m going to let him have my car. I don’t need it anymore. He calls me Miss Juanita. He’s always so polite. I read a lot and write daily in my journal. I spend my evenings looking out the window. It’s funny how the town has changed so much in such a short time.
I think about Ellen at times, and Mama and Daddy. I wonder if the dance hall is still open or if it has shut down. I think back to the days of the Golden Bubble. I listen to music on my radio, tapping my feet to the beat. But all things that are good and well are in the past. Sometimes it is good to leave the past behind and live one day at a time.
When I thought things might look up, turn around, or even change, President Roosevelt made a radio announcement. On December 7, 1941 the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. It was awful. We seemed so vulnerable and surprised by the attack. I listened all day and night. “What is wrong with people anymore? Haven’t they had enough of war already?” I said out loud.
The next day President Roosevelt declared war on Japan. I couldn’t help but think of all the lives that war changed in a matter of minutes. After hearing about Pearl Harbor, I lay in bed for days listening to the radio. I was so depressed I couldn’t stay up. I wondered what else would happen and how many more people would die?
As the days passed, John Marshall came by every day to check on me. He would call my name at the door. Sometimes I would answer, but most of the time I was asleep. It would take me a few days to perk up again. Who knows, one minute I might be dreaming I’m dancing across the room with an imaginable handsome man or the next minute I might be sitting quietly reading a good book. Who cares? I live in my own little world, not the world beyond these walls but the one in my mind. One day I spent the whole day looking at old photographs. I ran across one of Kenneth and me. I had already cut his face out of some; some I had completely torn up. I wonder from time to time if he and his wife are still together or divorced. What would I do or say if he came and knocked on my door? Unexpectedly, there was a knock at my door.
“Yes,” I said.
“Miss Juanita, it’s me, John Marshall. I have those things you asked me to get.”
“That’ll be fine, John Marshall, leave them by the door.”
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” I replied. “Thanks for asking. Are you…?”
“Tolerable,” he said. “I’m tolerable.”
A family moved in next door. It was a man, his wife, and daughter. They appeared to be doing well until late one night I heard them fighting. The walls of the apartment are thin and you can hear almost everything that goes on if you are quiet. Late that night he was yelling at his wife, and she was crying. It almost made me cry. It sounded like he was slapping her around. I would have called the police, but I didn’t have a phone. For the next few weeks, the fighting would start up about midnight every other night. I believed he was hitting her, but I wasn’t sure. Then one day when he wasn’t at home I called for her through the vent in the wall that connected our apartments.
“Psst, hey, girl,” I yelled through the vent.
“Yes, yes, who is it?” the voice questioned.
“I live next door, and I want to help you.”
“I don’t need any help. Everything is fine,” she replied.
“Come on,” I said. “I hear your husband at night. I can’t help but hear it.”
“You don’t understand him,” she stated.
“I know enough to know that he is beating on you,” I replied.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
I heard her door slam, and the apartment was quiet. The next two nights were quiet, probably because he didn’t come home. But the third night, around midnight, it started again. This time it went on day after day and night after night. I didn’t know what to do. She wouldn’t let me help her at all. All I knew to do was pray for her and cry with her. A few weeks later, I heard her voice through the vent. She told me her name was Sandra Briley, and her little girl’s name was Beverly. Charles was her husband. She asked me if I would help her and her daughter.
I told her I had a plan.
“One night when he passes out, gather a few things and take your daughter to the train depot,” I instructed. “I’ll pay for your ticket and give you some extra money for food. Sandra, take the train to Slick Rock, Kentucky. I have some friends there who will help you. I’ll get the money tomorrow and put it in an envelope. When you knock at my door and identify yourself, I will slip it under the door.”
“When do you think I can do it?” she asked.
“Any time after tomorrow when he passes out,” I replied.
“What if he catches me?” she cried.
“He won’t,” I encouraged her. “When he passes out, you don’t hear anything else out of him until the next day. Trust me, Sandra.”
“But I’m afraid,” she stated. “What if I can’t make it on my own? I have my daughter, too.”
“Sandra, it’s this way—a chance for a better life or live like you have been living,” I told her. “You have to do it for you and your daughter. No one can do this for you. It may be scary right now, but things will get better for you. My friends I told you about will guide you and help you,” I explained.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
The next day I sent John Marshall for the money. When he got back, he knocked on the door and asked if I was okay. I assured him I was. He slipped the envelope under the door. I thanked him and asked how he was.
He replied, “Tolerable, Miss Juanita.”
That afternoon I called for Sandra through the vent.
“Yes,” she said.
I told her I had the money and to follow the plan. She told me to give her a minute. In a few seconds, I heard her knock at the door. Carefully, I eased the envelope under the door. I heard her walk away.
That night I waited as long as I could before I fell asleep. Around midnight I heard the most awful noise I had ever heard in my life. It was him farting. It woke me from a sound sleep. I wondered if Sandra had left. I listened but all I could hear was his snoring. I eased up to the vent and called for her, but there was no answer. I hoped for the best; maybe she made it. It took me forever to go back to sleep. The next morning I was awakened by John Marshall knocking at the door.
“Miss Juanita, are you up?”
I crawled out of bed and went to the door.
“Yes, John Marshall,” I said.
“You told me to rem
ind you about my birthday,” he replied.
“Oh, yes, I did” I recalled.
“Today I’m eighteen,” he boasted.
“Well, John, happy birthday,” I said as I opened the door. “Here are the keys to your car.”
He smiled from ear to ear. He didn’t know what to say.
I asked him how he felt about the new car. He smiled and replied, “Tolerable, Miss Juanita, tolerable.”
“You have been taking care of that car all these years, John Marshall,” I said. “It’s time for it to be yours.”
I changed the subject and asked John Marshall if he would step next door and see if he could hear anything. He leaned against the door and it slowly opened. Cautiously, he peeped in. It was empty. Nothing was there except a few pieces of furniture. He shut the door and came back to tell me what he saw. I eased my door shut as John Marshall walked away. I began to think to myself that she was gone. They were all gone, but I know I heard him snoring last night. He must have left early this morning. I wondered if she had taken the train to Kentucky.
From then on, I spent a lot of days looking out the window. John Marshall spent a lot of time in his car. He keeps it so nice and clean. I don’t see him as much as I used too. But whenever I need him, he is always there. I give him a little extra from time to time for gas and all. I don’t know what I ever did without him. We have become close friends through the years. We have become “tolerable” together, I guess you would say. It’s good to have a friend.
Then one day, I heard something in the apartment next door. I quietly listened at the vent to see if I recognized who it was. It sounded like someone moving in. But who, I wondered, a man or woman? In my old age, I had become a busy body. The day passed; I listened at the vent but heard nothing. Whoever it was, they were very quiet. At night I listened, but all I heard was someone mumbling on the phone. They had no visitors. They only left the apartment at night, so they must sleep in the day. “Maybe they work the night shift,” I thought. It was very strange. Even John Marshall hadn’t seen anyone.
As the weeks passed, I had all but forgotten my neighbor until one night they had company. I slipped out of bed, eased up to the vent and listened. There were three of them. They were talking about the bank across the street. Carefully, I listened in. I was horrified to hear they were going to rob the bank in a few days. “I have to tell the police,” I thought. I had to get word to the police, but how. I thought about getting John Marshall to tip the police off. But days passed, and John Marshall didn’t show up. It was the first time ever that he had stayed gone so long. “What am I to do?” I thought. “Should I go to the police myself?” However, I couldn’t bring myself to open the door and go out.
I continued listening as they talked some more. I realized they were actors at the local palace theater. They were studying their lines for an upcoming play. I felt so foolish and stupid, and I am so glad that I didn’t tell John Marshall who finally came by to see me. I think he is spending all his time with his girlfriend.
As the months went by, the apartment next door was empty again.
Two days after New Year’s Eve in 1950, we had one of the biggest snows that year I had ever seen. Main Street was abandoned; only a few cars tried to get through the snow. I had come down with a bad cough, was sick to my stomach, and running a fever. As I watched the snow fall, I couldn’t help but think how beautiful it was. It fell so fast and heavy that it covered the ground in no time.
I remembered that day so well; I felt so bad. Chills had set in and I felt like I was freezing to death. I didn’t know what I was going to do if it got worse. I had had colds before, on and off, but nothing like this. As time went on, I grew worse. John Marshall knocked on the door and asked me how I was. I made my way to the door and let him in. I was so sick I couldn’t stand it. Immediately, he saw I was sick and helped me back to the couch. For the next few days, he stayed with me and helped me get better. For two days and nights, he sat by me until the fever broke. We played checkers and cards, and talked and laughed when I had the strength. It had been a long time since I had any company, and it felt good. I remember when I got well, I told John Marshall he had to go.
The next time he came to check on me, he told me he left me something at the door. After he left, I eased the door open. I found a big plastic ring of a thing. I read on the tag, hula-hoop. “That John Marshall,” I laughed to myself. I wondered how on earth the thing worked. I read the instructions and slipped it about my waist. I tried it and it went round and round to my feet. I knew I wasn’t doing it right. But I kept trying, and after a while I did better. I really wasn’t use to so much work.
The years had truly slipped by. Times were changing even faster now. The apartment building had gone down a lot through the years. It had aged in time just as I had. My time would pass one day, but my memories would live on in my notebook, my memoirs, the collection of bits and pieces of my life. I chose my life to be as it is and I want my memories to be remembered in the pages of my words. I had instructed John Marshall to take my ashes and empty them in the wind for my soul to sing out that I was free.
The spring of 1951, I was forty-two, would be a turning point in my life. It happened when a new neighbor moved in next door. It would only be by chance that, through the vent once more, we would connect. It happened one day when he was at home. I overheard him whistling. I listened for a few minutes, and then I lightly tapped on the wall. At first he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. When I tapped the rhyme of his tune, he came over to the wall and returned the tap. That was how it all started.
I spoke to him through the vent. I told him my name; he told me his, Shawn. He asked me what I was doing. For the next hour I filled him in on my life as a recluse. He couldn’t believe it. From that time on we talked daily. Shawn told me he was a salesman and traveled his route six months out of the year. He was here in Hearthstone for a while until he had to go back out on the road. Time passed and we talked even more. He told me about the world I had shut out. Shawn asked me several times if he could come over to see me. But I told him he couldn’t. I wanted to leave things as they were. He really didn’t understand, but he didn’t press me. We became good friends over time. It was good to have someone again. The laughter we shared proved to be the best medicine.
We seemed to have a lot in common, and it seemed like I had known him before. But there was no way. Shawn was a lot younger than me, and he said he loved to dance. There was not a day that went by that we didn’t meet at the vent and talk. There were times I thought seriously about opening the door and living again. But something held me back—something I couldn’t explain or let go. Anyway it didn’t seem so important anymore.
Then one day he told me he had to go back on the road for a while. He promised me that he would come back, and told me to wait for him.
“When I come back,” he said, “I am going to take you dancing from dusk to dawn.”
I giggled to myself, flattered and impressed by such a dashing knight in armor. I knew I couldn’t, but it did mean a lot that he cared enough to suggest it.
After he left, I longed to hear from him. I missed him so. Time and time again I lightly tapped on the wall, hoping he would tap back. I stood at the window, watching and hoping he would return. What I wouldn’t give to hear his whistle or soft voice through the vent again. Not a day went by that I didn’t hope to hear from him. But there was something inside me that told me I would never see him again.
It was 1952, almost a year since he had left. I was forty-three and my health was failing. I told John Marshall about my wishes for him to scatter my ashes in the wind. I knew it wouldn’t be that long, for the last ten years I have grieved.
Then in the mail, I received a letter addressed to apartment 1-C Morningside Towers. It was from Sandra in Slick Rock, Kentucky. She told me she and the baby wer
e fine. She thanked me for all I had done for them. She said she would never forget me. I was relieved to hear the great news. I had always hoped she made it.
I asked John Marshall to stay with me. My heart had been failing for the last few years. I never told anyone about it. John Marshall begged me to let him take me to the doctor, but I resisted. I wanted it this way. Weak and trembling, I lay down on the couch. John Marshall sat by my side. As things slowly got quiet, I closed my eyes.
“Miss Juanita,” cried John Marshall. “Miss Juanita!”
Quickly, he ran for help. By the time they got to the apartment it was too late. They had pronounced her dead. I John Marshall kept my word. As tears filled my eyes I took her ashes to a meadow outside of town. From there I scattered her ashes in the wind, as I cried out, “She’s free.”
A couple of days after her funeral, Shawn came looking for her, only to find me moving her things. He asked about her and I filled him in.
“John Marshall,” he asked, “can I stay for a bit?”
I replied, “That will be fine.”
Carefully, he began to search the room looking for something, anything that would help him understand. He couldn’t believe she had spent most of her life here. Slowly, he eased over to the window where she had sat time and time again looking out. He saw the vent where they first met. Although he never saw or met her, he seemed to have known her. He spotted a box of books on the floor. He reached for one; it was her journal. Casually, Shawn thumbed through it, reading here and there. Then he suddenly stopped when he read the name Kenneth Patterson. As he read on he found out that she was once in love with his older brother. The salesman, her neighbor, was Shawn Patterson.
*****
A Cry in the Wind
Bobby A. Troutt is a southern writer who writes a variety of short stories, spiritual books and children’s books.
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