Barry and Alma

The London cafe is humming around us and Barry tells me about how he met Alma.

-I met her while I was working for the census, she was the last apartment I had to survey in this crappy block called Naas house. I got a real kick out of asking the residents if they had any idea what Naas was. Used it as a bit of an ice-breaker.

-Did any of them know?

-Nah.

-Were they interested?

-Not really.

-Huh.

-Anyway, I get to the last apartment and the door is open, this kind of spooks me so I call out, but I don’t hear anything. Then I stick my head in the door and I see an old lady sitting on the couch staring right back at me and she’s trying to say something.

-Ugh, creepy.

-Exactly. So I go towards her and make out what she’s saying.

-What was she saying?

-I’m about to tell you. She’s saying “help me, I’m dying.” She has this really hoarse voice and she keeps repeating it and trying to reach for me.

-Shit.

-Exactly. Shit.

-What did you do?

-I was freaked out, asked her if she wanted me to call an ambulance but she just kept repeating “help me, I’m dying”. So I called them and they said they’d try get there as soon as they could.

-and there was no one else around?

-No, there was no one in her place and the other apartment on that floor was empty.

-Did she tell why she thought she was dying?

-She just said she felt awful. So I sat beside her. Then she asked me to hold her hand.

-Did you?

-Of course! I thought she was dying. She could have asked me to kiss her and I would have done it. So we’re sitting on the couch for a few minutes holding hands when she turns to me and asks, “Why are you holding my hand?”

-WHAT?!

-yeah. and then she says with a weird smile, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

-What did you say to that?

-I just said “Yeah, you’re lovely”. Then she points to a picture on the wall of a man in uniform and says that’s her husband. We chat awhile and then she says she regrets that she never got married. I found out from a neighbour later that she actually married twice.

-Woah.

-So this goes on for an hour: hand holding, why are you holding my hand?, do you think I’m pretty?, and a load of stories that make no sense. It’s a loop.

-Did the ambulance come then?

-No first the doorbell goes and it’s this black woman. She’s Alma’s carer. She wants to know who the hell I am, so I explain that I’m just Barry; the census guy. She tells me that Alma always thinks she’s dying.

-Shit.

-Shit. So I’m about to cancel the ambulance when they come crashing through the door!

-no!

-yeah, trolley, masks, tanks and everything.

-Nightmare.