In These Rooms

I was built in 1946 near the end of the year, as many soldiers returned from the war. My bright, new, red bricks, the freshly-painted walls and the cookie-cutter rooms made me a home for many. At first, only soldiers filled my numerous rooms. Some stayed only for a few months; others stayed for life. I have watched many couples come and go, some families start, and others families fall apart.

One young man came just after the war ended. He always had a lady or groups of friends over. Yet as his friends got married, he stayed single. He never seemed to be sad though. He became an uncle to his friends’ kids and a grandpa to many more as he aged. But as the kids got older and his friends moved away, he became more and more alone. He and I have grown old together.

I remember the day he died. He was watching his favourite show on the TV and he fell asleep there. That wasn't uncommon; he did that every night those days. Eventually, the sun filled his living room, but he didn't move. His coffeemaker dinged and the apartment filled with the smell of coffee, and still he didn't move. That's when I knew my oldest friend was gone. And I could do nothing for him. I watched over him for three days before his landlord came to check on him. It was a sad day.

Not all my stories are sad, but that seems to be the only sort I can recall today. A family of three moved in…I can't even remember how long ago now. Their daughter was thirteen or so at the time. I heard so many fights, as well as nights of laughter, from that ground-floor apartment. I remember the first night a cherry-red pickup parked in my back alley, close to the daughter's bedroom, and a boy snuck in through the window. The girl must have been seventeen by then. I don’t recall how many times he came in through that window, but I do remember the first time the boy entered the apartment through the front door. I saw the hugs and the welcome to the family dinner. However, a few days later there was a fight, a blue test was thrown across the room, and the boy was told never to come back.

Three days after that, two suitcases got placed outside the bedroom window, and later that night his cherry red pick-up pulled into the back alley. He tapped on her window and took the bags to the truck. She slid the glass pane up and slipped out.

When her mother went to her room the following morning, she found only a note. I never saw the daughter come back. Her parents left a few months after she did. She has never came back with a baby, looking for her parents, and the parents have never returned to the apartment. I like to think they went after her, fixed things, and became a happy family again. But I'll never really know.

Oh! I remember this one happy story. A group of boys moved into the building within weeks of each other. Soon, the three were inseparable. Almost everyone in the building knew about their friendship. As they grew up, the three boys decided they were going to start a pop band.

After several complaints about the noise, the landlord made them a deal - if they mowed the lawn and shovelled the snow for him, the boys could use the basement as a practice space, since it was already soundproof. So they practised and wrote songs and even got a few on the local radio stations. The band never made it big, but they were happy. They have grown up, gotten married, and left my halls, but I know they still play together. I hear them on the radio in my halls. I'm proud of them. Within my walls, lives have been built, lost, destroyed, and made.

But no memory scares me more than this one. The day started like every other. Kids went to school and came home, adults drove to work and returned to make dinner. As families gathered in their apartments for the evening, it appeared it was going to be a peaceful night like always. On my top floor was a boy of thirteen, watching his three-year-old brother alone for the first time. He had done such a good job; he'd made supper and gotten the toddler down for the night with no problems.

However, the little brother had spilled some cereal and it had been ground into the carpet, so the older brother was going to save his mom some work by cleaning up the mess. It wasn't his fault and I don't blame him. He plugged in the vacuum like he'd done a hundred times before, but tonight was different. He plugged it in and turned it on, and suddenly the out­let started sparking. He turned off the vacuum but the sparking continued.

The older brother didn't know what to do when suddenly the wall caught on fire! He ran to get his baby brother and ran down the hall screaming “Fire!” until he reached the fire alarm. He pulled it, then grabbed his brother and headed down the stairs. Once he got his brother out of the building, he handed him to a neighbour he trusted. Then he went back inside to help many of my older friends get downstairs, while waiting for the firetrucks to arrive. Once he saw the firemen, the boy made a point of telling them of all the apartments that he knew might need help. Then he found his brother and called his mom.

I continued to watch as my friends rushed out of my building. I didn’t know if they were all okay. The smoke was too high. After what felt like an eternity, the smoke faded and I could see the orange light of dawn. I watched my friends leave, going to stay at hotels or with family friends as they waited to be allowed to come back home.

This brings us to today. My bright red bricks are now faded and left with black marks. The walls of my rooms have not looked fresh in years, but now they are black or coated in water damage. A man with a yellow hat walks through my halls, making notes. The landlord looks sad as the man hands him the paper.

After a few days, my friends are back! But nobody looks happy... In fact, some look angry. They pack up what they can find, leaving with boxes in their arms and tears in their eyes.

A few more days and orange fences get placed around me. I know what that means; I've seen it happen to other buildings on my street. The repairs would cost too much, so the landlord took an offer from the city.

Now, a work crew is at my door with big yellow machines. As the machines draw close, I only hope that they build a new apartment building and that they name it after the boy who saved my friends.

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