The Hungarian Boarder

"That's my girl Jayla over at the yellow sea horse. Which one is yours?"

"I don't have one, yet. I'm prospecting to get a feel for what it's like to come out here."

"You white folks have a lot of discipline. I popped my first one with sixteen."

"Well, the economy is hard. A month after Lehman Brothers bankruptcy, my husband's production line was black-lit."

"Huh, you probably got one of those hunks from Chrysler: Big man, big wallet, and know how to treat a lady with dinners and Tiffany."

"That was then. Now, he is struggling rather quietly. He sometimes disappears for hours. I hope he is hanging out with his old colleagues."

"I know exactly where my man is: In the state penitentiary for dealing crack cocaine. And he ain't do no dishes and no nothing. My oldest boy, though, he is making something of him. He is barely sixteen and already working his butt off at the local car wash."

"Sometimes, I wonder if I should give up on my dream of a stay at home wife. I've gotten an education as a nurse before I got married. We are already going to the food bank and took in a boarder. It's silent guy from Hungary. He barely speaks any English and keeps to himself."

Mary had her legs dressed in black yoga pants crossed at the knees. Her right foot in the air with the pink sneaker soles was tapping nervously. Her breath gave just a hint of vapor into the cool, late autumn Detroit air. She was sitting in a park in Conant Gardens, Detroit, a few blocks away from her apartment. The big ba-tonga butts and boobs of the African American women happily quelled out overstretched pants and bras. On good days, they parlayed with her friendly. On bad days, they called her the skinny white bitch.

She had learned to keep her distance on days, when the tension ran high in the street. The comrades in her new neighborhood were prone to pulling each other by the air, ripping tops, and savagely fist beaten the head or whatever they could hit. She had seen the enraged anger faces that were desperately clinging to the other body to land one more punch, while their bodies were already lifted up by peacemakers pulling the fighters apart.

"My name is Mary. It is nice to meet you."

"I see you around, Mary. Call me Shaneil."

Mary slowly got up. Her sneakers were crunching the ice stars in the light frosting on the ground. She pulled her puffy black Northface jacket tighter. A dozen little buggers were running around in the sand pit, crawling onto the wooden castle, or hitting the ground with sticks. They small people had clothes that was so thick that it made them appear like little balls with their cute little fingers and feet sticking out. Snot ran over the mouth of one boy with the most adorable angel face: "Mommy, mommy, I found a rock!"

Her skinny black gloved fists punched the air as she fell into a little jog. The curvy pebble trails wound and intersected themselves through the park. A group of man was huddled in oversized coats near the bushes with bottles in brown bags. She worriedly looked over to them. They didn't look back at her. It was daylight. A cop car circled the park in the distance. The vapor puffed out of her mouth stronger by the time she reached the boundary of the park.

In the evening, her fingers reached into the aluminum pan with the Black Forest cake with the 99 cent sticker on it. Carefully with much restraint, she broke off only a little piece. The fridge was humming its compressor through the open fridge door. The old light bulb was flickering, while her face lit up with happiness letting the sugar and cacao ooze down her tongue. The tip of her tongue sensually swiveled around the inside of her white bleached teeth to collect more of bits of taste left over and not yet diluted by her saliva that eagerly shot into her mouth like it did for Maslow's dogs.

She turned the kitchen light off. Blinded for two seconds, her eyes adjusted to the Detroit night shinning in through the window. The dining table, chairs, and kitchen were a slight white reflection. She was wearing boy shorts that left her bottom peeking out slightly and a tank top. Her bare feet walked over the vinyl into the hallway and into the bedroom.

She nestled under the big down comforter next to her husband George. She starred at the cracked ceiling. The TV was running: "Leading by 6 points with 2:08 remaining in the 4th quarter, the Patriots faced 4th down and nearly 2 yards to go at their own 28-yard line. Indianapolis had one timeout left."

"George, did you fill out any applications today?" Her face was quivering. She tried to avoid eye contact to avoid having him see her.

"Give me a break. It's hard to lose your job. John said losing your job is like losing your identity."

"I'm sorry, George. Is there anything I can help you?"

"Stop nagging me. We already got a boarder to help make the mortgage payments. Do you think I like having a Hungarian wetback in my own house? At least, he goes to work early and comes home late, so that I don't have to see his ugly face."

"Okay. I'll give you some space and go to sleep. Could you turn down the TV a little?" Her voice had become week. Her gaze turned to the corner in the ceiling. The three planes of the walls and the ceiling coming together was her focus point. It had almost become her second home. That's where she withdrew to keep herself focused enough to avoid starting to bawl.

"If I want to watch the damn game. I watch the damn game in my own fucking house." George turned up the volume and put the remote control on the night stand next to him as far away as possible from Mary's reach. He added, "And the damn TV will stay on all fucking night now." George's face was red with anger.

"If that's how I can help you, I will gladly help you." Her voice was quivering. She could no longer hold it in. She closed her eyes to shut out the world and withdrew into her own head. George didn't notice. He was too mad.

The next morning, Mary was sitting at the kitchen table warming her hands on the mug of hot tea. Her body was wrapped in a fluffy robe to keep of the freezing morning air in the apartment, while the furnace hissed in the corner. Her feet were stuffed into bunny flippers with sheep fur. George walked into the kitchen already inside of his big, deeply blue Chrysler parka with winter boots.

"George, thank you for turning off the TV."

"I didn't turn it off. Don't act innocent."

"But it was off in the morning."

"I know who did it. Don't lie to my face."

"Maybe, we had a power short."

"Yeah, and virgin birth exists. While we are at it, stop wasting our money on cake."

"But you ate half of it."

"Ha, if that's what you are calling your greed, then fine."

The door slammed shut. Mary got up slowly. Another empty day awaited her. The bunny slippers dragged over the floor on the way to the bathroom. The makeup mirror reflected the light in many ways. The shower head still dripped the water from George's shower. The apartment was quiet. The Hungarian boarder had long left for his construction site. The neighbors were already at the street corner selling drugs.

She reached for her toothpaste and found empty air. Her mouth parted in slight puzzlement. Her toothpaste was on the left side of the sink. She motioned with her hand to put an imaginary toothpaste down. The motioned trained by years never put it on that side. Her husband was very clear about which side belonged to him and which to her. For a moment, she worried that her husband would get mad at her ingression. However, he hadn't said anything.

When she was at the end of her wash, she got the black pantyhose from all the way back in the closet. She carefully rolled them up. She put on the little pencil skirt. Her black blouse was a little crumpled. She put up the iron board in the kitchen. The window was open. The bare limbs of a winter tree were looking in as she pointed the tip of the iron into the corners of her blouse with her boobs hanging out.

An hour later, she stepped out of the silver train car into the cold wind gusts. The commuter crowd was covered in thick winter clothes, gloves, and hats. Her trench coat did the best at keeping out the worst of the weather from her pantyhose legs. The coat tails flapped wildly in the wind baring her elegant calves on black leather heels.

She swiftly stepped through the streets under the gray sky with clouds chasing down from Canada. Ease dropped over her body tension, when she stepped inside of the brownstone walls of the Henry Ford hospital. She clutched the blue folder tight to her chest and walked straight for the information desk.

"I'm here for the group interview with nurse applicants. I have my resume with me."

"Do you have your proof of vaccinations and latest health check, no older than thirty days with you?"

"I was hoping that I could get that done here."

"Do you have health insurance?"

"Not at the moment."

"I'd recommend going down to the free clinic on Macomb. The hospital will charge you full rack rates, which are three times of what the contracted insurance negotiated rates are. The applicant reception is in room #30-21. The elevator is over there. Good luck."

Her heels clacked loudly on the stone floor of the lobby. Men were wearing designer glasses. Their greying hair was neatly groomed and texturized with product. Their faces were so well groomed that she wondered if some of them were discretely applying subtle makeup. The cacophony of conversations in the background were so clearly enunciated that they felt exhilarating like a bright water found sparkling into the blue sky. Mary sighed like a weight was lifted off her chest for being back in such a respectful and educated environment.

Her hands caressed the golden buttons in the elevator and the Japanese culture inspired paneling in the elevator felt so soft. The view of the open glass windowed elevator down on the lobby with vividly green plants was breath dropping like taking a mini-vacation to see the Christ statue in Rio de Janeiro.

From there her curious, big, black eyes explored deeper into the hallway, into the bowels of the hospital, sprawling building extensions that had grown out of the original building like an ever expanding bee hive or ant hill.

The meeting room was crowded. Young, middle aged, and gray-haired women were crowding in the room. The early-comers had snatched up the ten upholstered chairs. The next group of arrivals had laid claim to the spots of bare wall to have at least something to lean against for comfort. The young twenty year olds had shamelessly sat down on the floor with their hip little purses next to them. The old women were standing in the middle of the room with a serious stare.

The ceiling had been stripped off the paneling. The power sockets were raw, simply wires sticking out. The flooring had been torn off and roughly piled in the corner. White paint spots were dropped carelessly all over the floor.

A white coat stormed into the room. He had glasses and a balding head. A red stripped tie was a touch of personality. The red was bright, royal suggesting power hunger in the person wearing it.

"Hi, my name is Edgar. I hope you are here to apply for the nurse position. Otherwise, you are in the wrong room. Because we have so many applicants for a single position, we have to make a group interview. I apologize. It is the only way to give everyone a fair shot at the position. We'll go on a short one hour tour of the facilities. At the end of the tour, we'll have a written quiz. The top ten scorers will move on to the next round. Let's take a look at the wonderful facilities."

The white-coat Edgar stormed in front of them with swift steps. Getting everyone through the door was a slow shuffle. The tension was running high. There were judgmental glances that tried to seize up the competition. There were friendly smiles trying to make friends. There was the awkward tension of nobody talking. And the first person talking would be listened to by over thirty people. There is nothing more awkward than having thirty plus people listen and evaluate the words, "I'm Mary. How are you?" So, she kept her gap shut.

They walked through the lecture halls. They shuffled past the surgery assignment board. They shuffled through the emergency room. They looked at the on-site fitness center for doctors-only. They got to look at the exercise poster in the nurses' locker room, which was what nurses had to satisfy themselves with.

In a lonely hallway with big windows overlooking the park, a lone bed with a tall man was standing. The man was wheezing. His eyes were wigged out from an internal struggle. Edgar walked by. The nurses walked by. Mary couldn't contain herself with panic she tried to speak. Her voice had gotten sullen from her mouth being shut so tightly. She struggled to clear her throat. And then it burst out of her as a pitched scream:

"He needs to be intubated or he'll die."

"Let's keep walking and leave the medical care to the hired staff."

"No, he will die within 60 seconds. The signs are clear. The breathing sound is very distinct. I have intubated before. I was trained in my residency."

Mary ripped open the medical drawer in the hallway. She rifled through the contents. Adrenalin was pumping in her. She saw an opportunity to stand out among all the nurses. Not many university hospitals taught nurses intubation. She felt the emergency of saving someone's life.

"Hold on. Hold on. You are not hired just yet. Also, only surgeons are allowed to intubate here."

"He'll die. He'll die," she screamed. Her hair came undone. Her eyes widened to show the white more prominently. She found the black metal grip to intubate.

Edgar made himself bigger to block her path to the dying patient. He stretched his arms out. The nurses were watching tensely. Some were cautiously drawing back. Some in the back were eagerly pushing forward to get a better look. Yet all the nurses moved very slowly and respectfully.

"You are a thirty million dollar liability lawsuit about to happen. I cannot allow you to cause the hospital that much damage. You are not authorized by hospital policy to perform the restricted procedure that you are proposing. You need to stay down."

The dying man reached up with his long, skinny arms. He desperately tried to reach for Mary, his only salvation, while he was slowly choking to death. In the life and death struggle, Mary got desperate and tried to physically push her way past Edgar. Edgar pushed her back with one hand and pushed the man back into the bed with his other hand. The man, weakened by the waning oxygen in his blood, tried to crawl toward Mary. Edgar yelled for security.

Two big, bulky man in security uniform came razing down the long hallway in a full gallop. They were wearing those special security hats. They wrapped their arms around Mary's bodies. She knocked off one of those hats. Her body was girthing in their full body grip. The dying man slowly faded into a limb ragdoll hanging off the side of the bed.

"Inability to follow chain of command," said one of the other nurses shaking her head in disbelief.

One of her shoes dropped to the floor from her suspended position above the ground in the hold of the security guards. They carried her down the hallway, down the stairs. One of the young nurse applicants, with the Anime haircut, carried the shoe behind the entourage. They put her down, out in the freezing cold. The motion controlled glass doors swooshed close behind them.

"You are banned from this hospital. If you ever come back, we'll call the police and charge you with trespassing."

That night, she was waiting for George to come home. She lay in bed. The images of the day were still keeping her in an emotional state. She paid no mind to the football channel that she had turned on. Her back was resting against the wall. Her hand was neatly on top of the blanket.

George rolled into the room with his parka and boots on. He slumped on the bed on top of the bed sheets face down. The smell of cheap whiskey filled the room.

"I put on the football for you. There is something that happened today that I really need to talk about...", her voice trailed off as she adjusted from her predetermination to George heavily breathing into the pillow that was covering his face.

For a moment, he lifted his head. "It's always you. You always have to talk about yourself. You never care for the rough stuff that I go through. And the TV stays on tonight, so that you learn your lesson." His head fell down again.

"George? Only the strong breathing and snoring responded. She got up and pulled his boots off his feet.

That night, her mind was so awake that she couldn't drift into sleep. That's why she heard the apartment door opening. The footsteps closed in on the bedroom. The bedroom door opened. She closed her eyes tightly to a squint. Then, she realized that it must have been the Hungarian boarder and not a thief.

She heard the remote control being lifted off her night stand. The football switched to a channel in a language incomprehensible to her, probably Hungarian. She felt a weight pressing down the mattress at her feet. Strangely, it was the first time in months that she had felt something move her, something touch her. Somehow, her withdrawing deep in her body to appear asleep, yet intently listening to any sensation (sound, movement, and smell), had made her sensitive. It felt like a weight being lifted off her to no longer feel alone.

She felt her feet slightly moving as he shifted his weight to lean forward, backward or deeply inhale. It was some kind of human connection. It was like a touch from childhood, when she had been in the arms of her dad limb, simply feeling his motion as he carried her.

After half hour or so, where she near breathlessly observed him with her non-vision senses, he turned off the TV and put down the remote control on her night stand. The bedroom door closed. His door opened and closed. It was silent.

In that silent, she realized who had turned off the TV the last night, who had eaten half the cake, and who had used her toothpaste. The realization of the unseen, ghost-like boarder going through their things sunk in. Perhaps, another ten minutes replayed all the little details of mundane household interactions with things. She checked for all the little things that had been off and she had discounted.

Then, she got up. She silently walked on soft, bare feet like an Indian into the kitchen. She got a sharpie out of the drawer. She marked every shampoo bottle, mouthwash, and other liquid in the bathroom with a line to indicate the current fluid level. Then, she put the sharpie back and went back to sleep.

The next morning, she got up with the first light. The boarder had already left. She carefully checked each bottle in the bathroom. He had used her shampoo. He had used all of her things. Most surprisingly, he had used also her deodorant. The bottle was moved an inch farther back. He had used her razor for her body hair.

She felt strangely violated and strangely intrigued. There was this man that took an interest in her mundane things. She thought of her deodorant highly. She had spent a whole day canvasing the beauty stores in the neighborhood until she settled on it as the best deodorant available in Conant Gardens. There was nobody whom she could tell about her victory. She always thought that her body cream burned a little bit after the Venus razor. Would he feel the burn as well?

She held the shampoo bottle in her hand. Would it make his hair feel as soft as hers? George used a bar of soap for his hair. She followed the boarder's traces into the kitchen. There was a spoon of sugar missing. The cereal was opened as well. Apparently, he preferred maple flavor over vanilla flavor.