Writings » Apartment 4C

Apartment 4C

By Buttermilk Baby at 2007-10-09 | Comedy, Ridiculous! | Printable version

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           It wasn't because his mustache was two inches thick, and it wasn't because he spent his whole day off watching Lifetime movies.  He was feeling ill because he downed an entire box of Lamisil.  "Digger" the dermatophyte had been taking his ass to the bank all week, and between a re-make of "Rosemary's Baby" and "As Illinois Sleeps" he went to the medicine cabinet.

            It was a small cabinet.  Rusted metal with a cracked mirror-plated front.  He had gotten used to looking at his face with a line up the side of it and a little distortion around his right eye.  The box was small enough but contained 17 capsules within.  He tore them from the tinfoil and plastic.  Two went spilling to the faded tile.  He dropped the pills in his mouth and followed them up with the glass of iced tea that had been sitting on the windowsill for three days.  All the powder had fallen to the bottom and it was like drinking the desert.  He swallowed the lump of pills as easy as one might swallow a small dog.

            He made his way back to his couch, which doubled as a friend and tripled as a lover.  Don't ask about all the duct tape on the back of the cushions.  "As Illinois Sleeps" was up next, he'd been seeing commercials for it all day.  Besides, he kind of had a thing for Candice Bergen.  His foot was itching like nobody's business so he dug it into the rug and began rubbing against the grain.  His carpet was as dirty as a two-dollar hooker but he didn't think twice.  It turns out the microscopic beasties in the shag were the cause of his yellow-ass toes all along.  It satisfied the itch for the time being.

            The commercial ended and the feature presentation began.  It opened on a small neighbor hood in the evening.  A woman was sleeping in her bed, alone.  Watching from his old couch with his filthy toes in the even filthier carpet, Grim Sansom unzipped his pants.  He was never subtle, and not once in his life presentable, even on his wedding day.  But that had come and gone, same with the divorce proceedings.  He slid his thumb in the waistband of his boxer shorts, the same shorts he'd been wearing for two days.  He was getting ready to do something nasty at the sight of Candice's tightly wrinkled face.

            Pounding started on the door and he stumbled up to his feet, frantically searching for the zipper.  "Sansom!  I need you're help.  Sansom!" His neighbor called from the other side of the door.  He turned the knob and pushed it inward.  It caught on the chain lock but he could see in anyway, Sansom was struggling to put his pants back on.  "What are you doin' in there Sansom?  What's going on?"

            "One second Mig, just hang on," Grim Sansom called back.  Miggy Barton was in the room next to Sansom's and often needed help with his toilet when it wouldn't work.  Not enough "flush" for the bulk Miggy was trying to send down.  He got his pants situated and opened the door.  "What, Mig, what?"

            While the door stood half open, Miggy could see the television set.  He recognized Murphy Brown right away.  "Aw, Grim come on!  Not Candice Bergen again?" he sighed in disappointment.

            "Get off my back, Mig."

            "It's not healthy, man," he expressed sincerely.

            "What do you need?"

            "The toilet, it's uh, acting up again," Miggy revealed lowering his head.

            "Come on."  Grim pulled the door closed behind him as he followed Miggy to his room.  They walked through the apartment which was lit by a few candles and a blazing glow from a red neon sign across the alley.  Grim could smell Miggy's dinner from half way through the door and it wasn't on the table.  He followed Miggy into the bathroom that hummed with fluorescent green light.  "God, Mig, you eat steak again?"  Miggy didn't answer, but they both knew he did.  Miggy seasoned the hell out of his steaks and they cut through him like a laser beam.  "Yeah, and Candice Bergen ain't healthy for me."  Grim dropped sarcastically as he pulled his head away and pinched his nose closed.  "Goddammit Mig."  The smell burned in his nostrils like fire.

            "You got a plunger?"  Miggy shook his in defeat, thinking of how he broke it in the battle with some backwater chili two nights ago.  Grim rolled up his sleeve and took a deep breath.  He slid his arm through the murk in the bowl and found the source of the blockage.  He tried to take another breath but the stench had magnified when he stirred the waters.  "Mig!  I'm a plumber, but this is, this is," Grim couldn't find the words, he just coughed and gagged.  Miggy watched in shame as his best friend did battle with his supper.  Miggy and Grim weren't friends but Miggy thought they were.  You can only shovel so much of somebody's shit before you start to resent the guy.  The only reason Grim Sansom put up with Miggy Barton was that he bought them lunch every day.  They ate it on the roof.

            Grim pulled out the mass and caught a whiff of putrid, morbid, turmoil.  He started dry-heaving as the black water circled the drain.  "Mig!" he shouted as he threw the dump into Miggy's small trashcan.  It slapped against the tin with a thud.

            Under Miggy's sink was a bottle of bleach.  Grim grabbed it and spun the cap off.  He leaned over the sink and started to pour it down his arm.  He scrubbed the remains of Miggy's dinner off his forearm with fierce determination.  He started feeling light headed but simply attributed it to the fumes from the bleach.  He could see Miggy using toilet paper to wipe the splashed water off the seat out of the corner of his eye.  He was taking care not to get any on his self.  Grim wanted to slap him with the mess still in his hand.

            Grim left the apartment with a thanks from Mig and an, "I'll see you tomorrow."  He started down the hall feeling a pulsation in his head.  He felt weak and leaned against the wall, clutching at it for balance.  Damn, that bleach packs a punch, he though.  He couldn't catch his breath and he fell to his knees in an abrupt awkwardness.  He tried to cry out but it was nothing more than a choked gasp.  He fell face down on the hallway floor.  No one heard him that night.  Grim Sansom expired on the floor in the hall of his apartment building, pumped full of medication for his skanky foot condition.

 

            Lips Macmillan from 4B found Grim the next morning, on his way to work.  Grim was reeking of human excretion and Lips could barely stand the smell.  He covered his face with his wrist and backed into the wall.  "Jessie, call the cops!  Sansom's dead!"  He called out to his wife who was still sleeping.  She pulled herself out of a dream, and clumsily reached out for the phone.

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