Ambulance (Part One)

A curtain had fallen and it lay on the floor like one of the homeless outside under a blanket.  It was a wonder he hadn’t thought to pick it up.  To alleviate the concerns of prospective tenants such as ourselves.  Make a good impression.  But this was the man’s way.  He was of an age, a little forgetful perhaps.  If neither of these things was behind the untended curtain and he had his full wits about him, well, we could surely accept his negligence, for we’d been in need of a place for some time.  It was difficult to find somewhere to live in the current circumstance.  Home was a dying concept for a lot of us.  Chance was a rare and coveted thing. There was a charge for opportunity and hardly anyone could afford it.  The city had us rolled up tight in its fist, the embezzlement abundant and bone-raw, everything devil-may-care.  It was the decline the wisest had envisioned for our favourite citizens, locked in with the landlords, all manner of landlord, from the deceptively charitable and the absurdly ill-disposed to the slightly forgetful.  That Hegarty belonged to the latter was somewhat a consolation.  And the room was fine.  We were sure we could re-hang the curtain with ease and told him as much.

 

And the deposit?

Oh, yes, I forgot.  We’ll say two months up front, how is that?

Grand.

Hello room. Bye hostels.

So we were done with hostels.  Done with those creaky bunks for a score.  And the snores of God knows who underneath.  No question God knew what we sounded like ourselves out for the count.

A place again, even if not, by all standard of measurement, our own.  We would call the room our own, make it our own, seeing as we were flinging hard-worked coin at it. 

Three weeks living there and we were a show of plain contentment.  We didn’t see Hegarty much.  Which was good.  He stayed in the back room watching game shows on the TV, ostensibly, judging from what ding-dongs and applause we could hear.  Gradually we came to know the neighbours.  Not to know-know them, just to know-see them. Such as the old woman next door who had her own personal ambulance. It was parked out front most days.  Plus the family across the way always fighting about something or other.  Inside they were probably equable; for some people it’s when they get out of the house that the trouble starts.  And the young couple a few doors down who appeared to possess everything we once thought we would ourselves have: the house, the car, the togetherness.  Whenever we saw them getting into that red Toyota, the resentment in us snarled and we had to stop to remind ourselves jealousy would get us nowhere but into everyone’s bad books. There were enough of them out there, bad books in which we featured, so best to curtail our appearances. 

Though we knew we could take it too far, still we often got a hankering and enjoyed our sips on a night out.  On one of those nights, we arrived back at the Hegarty house pure sick with the succession of pints.  There was a powerful wind about, one which aimed to deafen and beleaguer the small hour denizens.  When near the house, we noticed the old woman’s ambulance had disappeared.  This by itself wasn’t strange.  It wasn’t always there.  What was strange was that at this rather uncongenial hour the old woman was outside her home, sitting by herself on a stool at the doorstep, wind blowing her hair wild.   Intrigued and far from shy, we decided to check on her.  Drink will do that to a soul.  Make it yearn to express itself.   So we shuffled up Hegarty’s driveway and stopped at the front door to address the old woman over the small wall between gardens.   

 

Bit late to be out, isn’t it?

Is a woman my age not allowed to sit outside in the dead of night and enjoy a bit of peace?

Beg pardon.

Sorry.  I’m a snippy one.  I so rarely get the chance to come out in the day.  I wouldn’t dare show my face, on account of the swarm round here.

The swarm meaning your neighbours?

Right enough.  I can’t stand them.

It’s not a bad street.

Never had much time for me, so I have very little time for them. That said, it’s not the sole reason I come out for air at this time.  I don’t sleep so well in the night.  The dreams are a terror.  I’m better off getting my kip in the daytime.

Too bad.  Nightmares are an awful hassle.

What would you know about it? Unless you’ve lived my life and suffered all my memories . . . Sorry.  Snippy.  I’ve always been this way.  Yes, bad dreams.  Bad.  You have a cigarette?

Yes but are you sure that’s good for you, being poorly and all?

Course it’s not good for me. It’s a nice wind out there for throwing caution.  It’s true they’re watching me every day, to check if I’m croaking, but as you can see they’re not here at the moment.  I should like a nice cigarette.

Would be nice to give them up.

I wouldn’t worry.  They told me to walk slower all my life and I never got anywhere as a result.  Bastards.  See that cloud up there?

Aye.

Doesn’t it look like a lump of shite?

It does.

A great big turd.

 

Weeks passed, months.  Things happened.  Particularly in the workplace.  We quit one day after a supervisor queried the validity of our illness, one we had proposed as a means of securing some time off.  We weren’t having it, threw abuse and left, stubbornly willing to accept the postponement of income until we could sign on again and receive the social payment, or until a new gig announced itself; we had enough in the bank to see us through a couple of months at least.

Hours passed, days.  The ambulance vanished.  This time for good.  So too the old woman.  We saw no visitors at the home.  Nothing to mark her departure.  Simply, she was gone one day and the house sprouted signage at the front. 

Days passed, weeks.   Hegarty’s daughter moved in and took the box room upstairs to help with the caretaking, not just of the building but her father too who was getting on, clearly, and less capable about the place.  It was indeed forgetfulness that plagued the man, of the debilitating nature, the kind known to strike at the timeworn.  We found it sick and funny knowing the old woman probably left the world with a heap of dreadful memories on her, whereas Hegarty would go to his grave with a dreadful absence of them.  We were pleased at first with his daughter’s arrival, as it quelled the fear of him leaving the gas on by accident one night and poisoning us to death in our sleep. 

It became quickly apparent the daughter had not a bit of fondness for us.  She didn’t at all appreciate us coming home out of our gourds every available night; and most of them were available at that time.  Soon after moving in, she found it in her head to up the rent on us. 

 

It’s just the way things are these days, I’m sorry. 

Yeah.  Yeah.

Just another 50 will do it.  Can you cope with that?

Yeah.  Yeah.

 

Now it’s true in the following days we might have come home after a few and made a shout about it, sometimes, but to be honest we could never be sure if we’d come home ranting and raving or if we had simply dreamt it.  Regardless, something had to have been said.  For one night we came home from the pints to find all our stuff on the street.  Some shirts, trousers, trunks.  Eleven books in total.  A Jaws mug.  The laptop.  The backpack.  We didn’t have much stuff.  But it was all there.  They had not even the courtesy to leave it on the porch out of harm’s way – everything was dumped on the pavement, as far away from the house as they could be bothered to haul it.  We went to the door and put the key in.  The lock had been changed.  We stood outside making a racket for a while until a couple of lights went on in the other houses but nobody came outside.    We knew in that instance with the racket we were making that someone would surely ring the guards if we didn’t skedaddle.  So put the laptop and a few pairs of trunks into the backpack.  And one book.   The Faber Book of Ballads. We’d have that.  Leave the rest.  Things happen.

There wasn’t much to do but hit the town.  First things first, another drink to cool the ire.  Managed to get into a bar by the river that had a late licence and were able to throw down four whiskeys and two pints before they called it.  Then, once that was done, it was off to see if we could find a bed for the evening.  Most of the places were shut by the time we knocked on their doors and those which were open wouldn’t have us.  In our derangement we thought they had something against us, believed us to be scoundrels of the worst kind, and we lobbed insults at them from outside for a brief while, even though they had most likely no room for us in plain truth.

Wasn’t it well we now had shops that went the whole twenty-four hours?  Went in with the intention of procuring a naggin but we were told they no longer served alcohol.  We protested.  Then asked for tobacco.  Sling your hook, we were told.

There was nothing worse than being loose in the world with a hankering and with no immediate means of appeasing it.  We discussed quitting regularly.  The foremost addictions.  It was a topic we had failed to reach agreement on for we were divided on which to attempt first.  Might tobacco be better tried to begin with, then the drink killed after?  No, that would be hard.  Drink first, then tobacco?  Hmm.  Which sequence would be more effective in decreasing the chances of a stroke?  Neither presumably.  Our bones were whittled, weak.  The damage was done.

The minutes passed, an hour.  There was no way to walk the night to its natural end, so we made the decision to sit.  The alleys were a no-go, for they were packed with scum.  In the darkness one was fodder for the predacious.  We walked until we found a space with some kind of awning.  It took about a half hour but eventually we came to an old building where the entrance was above some high steps – off the street, to a certain degree.  You could see there was a little space there with some cover.  We climbed up and slumped against the door.  Softly.   So as not to set off any alarms.   

Fatigue had captured us.  Five hours from dawn.  We decided to close our eyes and sleep in the doorway.  Before doing so, we looked to the sky and lo and behold there was the old woman’s cloud again.  The lights of the city sent enough glow up to see it hanging above us.  Was it the same turd?  No.  Maybe.  Unless the old woman had had a word with the Almighty.  Just to give us a laugh.  But we weren’t laughing.  Truth be told, there was nothing funny about it.   

We were not junkies, thank Christ, did not participate in the harder life pursuits.  We shared space with the rest of our favourite citizens, but even so, we could hardly call ourselves their peers, could we?  There was money in the bank after all, dwindling though it was, and a computer in the bag.  And The Faber Book of Ballads.  Our favourite citizens were not endowed with these luxuries.  We had a head start on them.  Down and out now, yes, but tomorrow, up again and in.  To be fair, it wasn’t clear if our favourite citizens were looking for a way back in.  We were.  Allegedly.  Tomorrow a place would show itself.  Surely there would be rooms to house us, people that would have us.  We hoped.  Someone would notice.  Someone would come to collect us.  Things happen.  Eventually. 

                                                           

                                                                  *

 

When I woke, you had left.  I called out for you but there was no point.  I should have known.  That we would part company at such a time – at down and out.  Now I was set to proceed unattended.  Alone.  Like that famous song.  You know the one.  My instincts informed me you had drifted off for good.  I foresaw hell getting used to it.  A long drawn out squabble and separation in which the holder of ultimate power would stay a mystery.  Like the church and state situation.  Mulling it over, I knew you were wrong for me yet deep down I knew I’d have you back in a nano.  Another hankering it was hard to say no to. 

The sun was coming up.  I made my way down the steps of the old building.  Turning back, I saw it was the old Allied Irish Bank I used to go into when times were easier and the money was better.  Long time ago.  It was no longer an Allied Irish Bank.  Couldn’t say what it was now.  There were no signs outside to say what went on in the place. 

 

Part 2:

https://www.abctales.com/story/sean-mcnulty/ambulance-part-two