Of course, all good things must come to an end. Elizabeth broke up with me a few months later. Even though there was little disparity in our ages, she was adamant in her reasoning: I was a student; she was a teacher. It was simply inappropriate.
The breakup drove me into a deep depression. That’s why I was at the health center that day. To get treatment. That’s why I wanted to talk to her so bad. Sure, Elizabeth didn’t say hello that day, but I figured we’d see each other again.
And then I read the Sunday paper.
In front of her memorial, I fumbled through my purse and pulled out the Jane Austen figure I’d swiped from her apartment. It would look nice next to a framed photo that had been taken from her graduate student profile page. No one knew that I was the one who’d bought that figure for Elizabeth as a token of gratitude for all her help. For all her love. Frankly, I was amazed that she’d kept it.
“I didn’t let them win,” I said aloud through my tears, confessing all I’d done.
Treasure Island
by Micah Perks
Grant Park
Welcome to Good Neighbor!™
Choose a Neighborhood: Midtown
Choose a Category: Crime and Safety
Add Subject: “We’re in This Together!”
Post Message: Log Date, November 15, 2017
I’m a seventy-two-year-old retired middle school assistant principal who has lived in Grant Park for forty years. Since the Emeline Street “needle exchange” invaded our neighborhood, we’ve seen our streets taken over by crack addicts, tweekers, panhandlers — the whole basket of deplorables, to borrow a phrase. How many of us have posted about bicycle theft? Stolen mail? Keyed cars? Garbage rifled through? Dirty needles?
I’m going to post each day for the next month a record of the incidents I witness in our neighborhood. I will present my log at the next city council meeting on December 15. I urge you to do the same. We’re in this together!
Welcome to Good Neighbor!™
Choose a Neighborhood: Midtown
Choose a Category: Crime and Safety
Add Subject: “We’re in This Together!”
Post Message: Log Date, November 16, 2017
11:00 a.m. — Apparently white male, medium height/build, UC Santa Cruz Banana Slug sweatshirt, yelling obscenities in park across street, per usual. FU**, COC* SUCKER, etcetera. You’ve heard it. Pacing across entrance, per usual. For the hearing impaired, this apparently strung-out individual hollers in the park approximately three times a week. You know him as the Screamer. I go out on my second-floor balcony to document.
The Screamer screams, “I see you, sir! Yeah, you, there on the balcony! Staring is very rude! It’s rude to take photos of strangers!” I continue to take photos [attached here], though blurry because, distance. Screamer then screams, “Fu** you! Go ahead — call the cops again!”
11:05 a.m. — I call the cops.
11:35 a.m. — Cops arrive (surprise, surprise)! Talk to Screamer. Screamer leaves park, heading toward McDonald’s, as is his habit. Does he scream at McDonald’s? Anybody know?
2:30 p.m. — School bus drops pupils off in front of park, per usual. Three apparently Hispanic males, ages approximately eight or nine years old, stuff candy wrappers into neighbor’s “Little Library.” I go to balcony, take photos of them. Yell down, “Pick up those wrappers!” They scream, “El diablo viejo!” (Google translation: little old devil man) and run toward Button Street.
2:35 p.m. — I call the cops, report incident.
3:00 p.m. — Cops have not responded, per usual.
3:15 p.m. — I descend, which takes some time due to bum hip, retrieve plastic bag and “trash grabber” ($6.47, Amazon Prime, you can read my review, three stars because the sharp tongs are dangerous), exit house, open gate, cross street to neighbor’s “Little Library” (a glassed-in cabinet painted a glaring aqua, plunked onto a post).
I grab candy wrappers, deposit in bag. Open neighbor’s gate, covered in multiple strings of bells, so jingle jingle jingle. Knock on door of this neighbor, a “writer” who “works” from home. (“Writer” always takes morning tea on his porch in his pajamas and at five p.m., takes cocktail on porch, still in his pajamas. You’ve probably seen him on your way to and from actual work.)
Conversation:
Me: (holding out trash bag) “Three juvenile delinquents stuffed this trash in your ‘Little Library’ again.”
“Writer”: (apparently Asian male, apparently in his thirties, in pajamas, per usual): “Okay.”
Me: “I’ve warned you before that your so-called ‘Little Library’ attracts vagrants.”
“Writer”: “Books attract vagrants?”
Me: “Have you been to the downtown library? It’s basically a homeless shelter.”
“Writer”: (taking bag) “Thanks, Mr. Nowicki, I’ll take care of it.”
(NOTE: “Writer” is not on Good Neighbor!™ even though I have invited him by e-mail multiple times.)
I have looked “Writer” up on Amazon and he has one book of short stories published seven years ago, titled: Miraculous Escapes. Only two reviews, both three stars, #3,053,049 in Books. He has placed two copies of his own book in his “Little Library,” but apparently no one has ever taken it out. Apparently, no one has ever taken a book out of the “Little Library” at all, although he checks it daily. Am I right? Have any of you taken advantage of the “Little Library” or is it just a receptacle for trash?
5:00 p.m.: “Writer,” still in pajamas, exits house, puts on rubber boots he always leaves by door (despite my warnings that it will attract thieves), nails my plastic bag to fence beside “Little Library” with cardboard sign, “Put Trash Here.” Drinks cocktail on porch.
Welcome to Good Neighbor!™
Choose a Neighborhood: Midtown
Choose a Category: Crime and Safety
Add Subject: “We’re in This Together!”
Post Message: Log Date, November 17, 2017
5:45 a.m. — Woken by bells on gate of “Writer’s” house. Jingle jingle jingle. I open curtain. Individual in hoodie, apparently young adolescent male, caught in act of stealing “Writer’s” rubber boots. I run downstairs (really gimp downstairs because of bum hip), take up trash-grabber by door, exit house. Thief still in “Writer’s” yard. I brandish trash-grabber aloft from across street, yelling: “Drop those boots!”
Thief does not drop boots. I limp across street, open gate, hit boots out of perp’s hands with trash-grabber. I yell “Writer’s” name because in rush forgot phone to call cops.
Thief makes to attack me, but trips on fallen rubber boot, grabs onto trash-grabber on way down. Why? No idea. I yell for “Writer” again.
“Writer” (exiting house, in pajamas, long hair loose like wild man of Borneo): “What’s going on?”
Me: “Call the cops!”
“Writer” looks down. I look down. Thief’s hood has fallen back, revealing an apparently mixed-race female, late teens or early twenties, short dark hair, multiple piercings and whatnots in ears and nose, one big brown eye, holding other eye with both hands. Blood seeping through fingers. Apparently Thief hit trash-grabber with eye.