Back at the Towers

Personal Entry Alert

One Saturday morning last month I received a call from an old friend who sounded quite desperate.  She and her husband had returned to her childhood home in Georgia, in a little town off I-20 near the Alabama border.  Her mother had recently passed and she was going to live with her dad.  We were supposed to have met these friends for a "see you later" lunch before the moving truck came a few days later, but plans were scuttled as they were behind in getting things ready.  Now it was several days after that, and she explained that her husband was back in the old apartment, trying to get rid of what was left and clean a place in which they had lived for almost twenty years.  He had no vehicle.  She was in tears.  Could we help?

He was milling about with putty and paint, trying to fill in holes and cover stains.  There were still several items strewn in each room.  Everything had to go.  In two days, he would be flying to Norway, for an indefinite amount of time.  I think he has a work visa, and has to make at least thirty thou a year to stay in the States.  For now, he would return to his childhood home.  He looked and sounded defeated.  The entire scenario was just so sad.  I looked around at the yellowing walls and filthy carpet, which the owner said was mostly because of their beloved pooch.  I love that dog.  I'd been in scenarios similar to this before in one way or another.   The daunting task of trying to clean a place so lived in, hoping, praying to get that security deposit back.

We hauled stuff to Goodwill and kept a few items for ourselves.  One is a full size cardboard cut out of Elvis Presley (our friend is a big fan), something I intend to use for a prank at work in the near future.  Others: Tracey Ullman DVDs, a Princess Diana coffee table pictorial, and a surge protector.  We helped out for two days, and progress was made.  Thankfully, another dear friend of theirs was coming later in the week to do further cleaning, made possible as rent was paid through the close of the month.

Unavoidably, I was reminded of my time at this same apartment complex - Tennis Towers.  I lived there between 1992 and '94. One of my co-volunteers on the media crew (a youth pastor) at church needed a roommate.  We got along swimmingly; the only disagreement I recall involved the thermostat.  This was not because of temperature preference differences but because his electric bill went up as I liked to keep things colder.  I paid the difference and that was that.  He also asked that I not keep beer in the frig when some of the kids from his Youth for Christ group would spend the night.  Kent is what our Jewish friends call a mensch, a real stand up guy.  I had to move when he bought a house out in Wellington.  Earlier this year he relocated to Jacksonville.

My thoughts were also invaded by the memory of the time I had vicious food poisoning - from Checker's - and I was so weak I was writhing on the floor. I 'll spare you the other details.  I'm sure I was dehydrated, and equally sure I should've gone to the hospital.  Thankfully (or not) Kent was away that weekend.   There was also the very early morning when the woman who lived a flight up screamed down at the kids in the parking lot, who apparently were having an after party.  And the guy on our floor who used an electric saw at 9 PM. The wooden guard gate barrier that was usually on the ground as people just rammed it. The guy who died in the community hot tub. Paper thin walls through which you could hear nearly everything.   You know, apartment living.

Tennis Towers has gone downhill.  It was evident as soon as we pulled in the lot.  Maintenance seemed to be left to chance.  People were loitering everywhere.  Our friend reported that a recent management change was not favorable.  It added to the sad flavor of the day.  But most of it was the realization that even though these wonderful people lived within walking distance, we had only seen them a few times since our wedding, which was in 2009.  It was and is a convicting thought.  Now they're gone.

Sure, there's Facebook, but most of that communication is via memes and jokes.  So, this entry is not only a remembrance but a caution for any of you who have neglected seeing good friends.  Never let opportunities fly by.  Never wait until you're knee deep in mildew and facing a deadline to share in the love.