On my way to Eucharist Church. Sunday April 22nd approx. 2:15pm. Relic’s album the Green Light [http://relic.bandcamp.com/album/the-green-light] cued up on my iPod. I hit the button for the elevator, the bouncing piano line that opens up Relic’s ‘09 LP is interrupted by an overly dramatic yell in the stairwell next to where I’m waiting for the elevator. The piano continues to dance in my over-sized headphones. Another loud yell, that is accompanied with what sounds like vomiting, echos in the stairwell. “I’ve been baited” I think, “there’s going to be just some youth being dumb making sounds”. I open the door to the stairwell and am confronted with the sight of a 30 something balding Latino man. He is sprawled in a reclined position on wet stairs. Wet with vomit and what I immediately identify as pills. There is a pill container close to where I stand in the door way, on the stairs above him there is a small pipe and a Ziploc bag full of cigarettes. His grey hoodie is wet to and he has slobber coming out of his mouth running onto his chest adding to the damp spots.
Seeing all of this was a split second, which is about how long it takes for my heart to break and my mouth to say “Are you alright!?”. He hears and looks up, its as though he’s looking past me and through me. “Spaced out” is the expression I will use. I continue saying the same few things “Are you okay?” “What happened” “Should I call an ambulance?” “How can I help?” “What can I do?” “Are you alright?”
“Life is not worth it.” he says
“Yes, yes it is, it is worth it!”
“You’re life might be worth it, mine is not” he slurred “I have 2 wife. 2 kids… in UK. You know U.K.?”
“ye-”
“United Kingdom. Life is bullshit.”
“No, life is not bullshit!”
I immidiatly re-thought that statement “Some of life might be bullshit” I said.
He was zoned out again, looking at the pool of saliva and pills.
“How can I help you?”
“Why do you want to help me?” He says in a thick Spanish accent while looking at the stairs in front of him.
“Because I feel compassion for you, I care about you”
“Five oh four” he said. “my mother is there”
“okay” I said, “I’ll go knock on 504”
I walk down our hallway. The hallway this man and I have shared for 7 months though I’ve never seen him before. Or if I have, I don’t remember him. I make it to the door and knock 4 times. Waiting for what I judge to be long enough, I leave.
Back in the stairwell he was in the same state as before.
“No one is there” I said. “What can I do?” My mind put it all in place: pills, depression, talk of suicide. This is serious enough for the call.
“I’m going to call an ambulance” For the first time in my life I dialed 911. I gave the person on the other line our address and situation. They asked me what pills he had taken “I’m not sure what the pills are called” I responded. The man picked up the empty yellow/orange container for me to see. His hand was shaking, unstable. I couldn’t quite read the jumble of letters and with and earnest try I took a shot at pronouncing it. “Just have it there when the police come” she said. “Yeah for sure” I responded. He began to stand up, he reached over to the railing and looked down the stairwell. The lady on the phone got our address again and asked if I would stay with him. I said I would, just then he began to fall I let out a “ohh-just!” and reached for his shoulder. He landed right where he was before and in the same position. The lady on the phone asked what happened and I explained. She said the police and paramedics were on their way. “Make sure he doesn’t eat or drink anything” “alright” I hung up.
During this time he had taken out a cigarette from the Ziploc bag.
I sat with him. “I’m not a bad person” he said. “No, I don’t believe you are a bad person” I replied trying with emotion to convey that I was not judging him.
“You do not smoke do you?” “No-” he cut me off
“I pray. I pray all the time”
“Me too!” I exclaimed, for a split moment a look of happiness flashed across his face “You do?” “Yeah!” “I pray, I pray yesterday, I pray today. God doesn’t care about me” “Yes he does, he cares about you so much! I care about you” again, no attention span, “I try to take the pills, but ugg” he sticks out his tongue and rubs it against his teeth. “It taste like parsley. You know parsley” “Yeah” he rubs is tongue against his teeth a few more times and lets some saliva go down his chin and on to his hoodie.
He looks at the cigarette in his hand and continues to play with it as he has been this whole time.
A moment passes and he says something that takes me completely off guard ”You are a musician” ”Yeah, I am. How do you know?” He grabs my headphones “These are very expensive Sony headphones” “No their not” I reply. They are about $30 at Wal Mart. “They have a lot of padding here” He grabs them with an odd grip. He’s squeezing them as I say “Yeah they do”. He looks up at me “how is the bass is it good?” “Ye-” “middle bass or deeeep bass” he says lowering his voice and he says deep. “It’s deep I said” marveling at the conversation we are holding. He’s still spacing out now and then.
“I am a producer” he said
“No way!!! I’m a producer too!” He looks surprised and again, a smile flashes across his face, “What do you play?”
“I just make stuff on the computer”
“I make R&B” he says.
“I make hip hop”
“Same!” he exclaims. Stupidly my underground hip hop head remembers KRS-One saying Hip Hop and R&B are not to be confused I disagree with this man over something that doesn’t matter at all. “Nah, they aren’t the same” My normal person brain decides why create division and settles on “They are similar though” “Similar” he nods and repeats and spaces out.
I’m blown away. Completely in shock of what is happening. He plays with the cigarette.
“You live on this floor?” “Yes, I’m in five twenty two!” “I won’t remember” he stutters out making a hand gesture to his head and the pills and vomit. He takes out his lighter and lights his cigarette. I think back to the lady on the phone who said he shouldn’t eat or drink anything and I figured smoking probably wasn’t good either. “No” I sort of whimpered “don’t smoke in here”
“Why? I do not care” he said.
“Well, what if their are children in the stairwell, they shouldn’t have to breath it” Many times in our apartment building the smell of smoke lines the hallway, elevator and stairways. It is something that annoys me so some of my convictions here come out of that.
“If you were me.” he stops “if you were me you would not care” there is so much despair in his voice I know we are talking about more than cigarettes.
“What about for me? I am trying to help you” He isn’t listening. I give up.
I hear some commotion in the stairwell. “I will come visit you in 504. Can I pray for you?” He’s spaced out again.
Two men come through the door, they are paramedics. One asks “Are you Klassen?” “yeah” I said. At this point the man is leaning up against me sitting on the stairs. I’m sure we look like old friends due to how close we are.
“Did you see him take the pills?”
“No, I heard him throwing up and I came in and saw him”
A police officer comes up from the stairs. I’m still sitting with the man, the rest are standing over us. The policeman asks “Whats your name” quickly and angrily. The man doesn’t respond. The officer barges past us and up a few stairs, his whole demeanor is boiling my blood, he sees the small pipe and looks at me “You smoking crack?!” He accuses loudly.
“ME!?” I exclaim in disgust. I’m so upset with how he is handling the situation that I do not dignify the question with a response.
“How many pills did you guys take?”
I can’t believe this guy. I can’t believe there is a heart beating within him. His words are short and cold.
The man reaches into his hoodie and pulls out a smaller yellow-orange pill container and hands it to the inconsiderate cop. He takes it from him, reads it and passes it to the paramedic.
“How many did you take” the shouting cop declares rather than asks.
“16” the man says while looking down the stairwell still smoking his cigarette.
“And of those?” The cop points to the other pill bottle that the paramedic had picked up.
“1, I try more but every time I-” he makes a gagging motion and stops talking.
The paramedic treats us with a little dignity “Once you finish your cigarette we will take you on to the stretcher, ok?” The Man seems mildly pleased with this.
Behind me I hear:
“Ya have any I.D. on ya?” the cop says with a tone that I’d only ever heard from 1 dimensional bad guy characters in movies.
“yes” the man starts to stand up. I help him. He gives the cop what looks like a brown passport. ”How do you say this?” the cop demands referring to the Mans, the Man mumbles something “I can’t say this” The cop gives up with zero effort.
The paramedic begins questioning me: “You found him here?” “Yeah” I said “You live here?” “Yeah, just down the hall” “You know him?” “No, I just met him” during my talk I have to keep balancing the man as he stands against the wall. Almost falling every couple of seconds. After a few times I just keep my arm around him.
“Alright buddy, time to go, I’ve let you smoke for like 3 minutes here, you’re not even supposed to smoke in the stairwell” The cop yanks the cigarette out of the mans hand and steps on it.
The man steps forward to walk down the stairs “Can I help?” I ask.
“No, I” he mumbles something I can’t understand and to my surprise makes his way down the stairs while hanging on to the railing.
I turn and ask the police officer “Who will clean this up?”
“Can you ask your superintendent” He says with out looking me in the eyes. He begins to walk past me down the stairs.
“I don’t think their here on Sundays, I don’t know how to” I trail off realizing he’s not listening. We make it to the bottom of the stairs, he turns in the door way I see the Man being helped on to the stretcher, they are asking him to take his hoodie off and he is protesting saying it’s cold outside.
“Whats your name” The cop says quickly
“Brett Klassen”
“Brent?”
“No, Brett, B-R-E-T-T”
He scribbles out the N and puts a T and jotts “C-l-a-s-s-e-n”
“K” I point to the C.
“Where do you live”
“Klassen with a K”
“Yeah, where do you live” He puts a K
“522, here”
“phone number?”
I give him my phone number and feel like a worthless piece of this mans job, probably valued less than the notebook he used to write this information in.
I ask who will clean up the pills and vomit again but he doesn’t respond.
Meanwhile the paramedics are struggling with the elevator as it keeps closing on them and they are trying to get the stretcher in.
The man looks and me and asks me to come over to him. I feel another wave of compassion for him in this state. My heart breaks a second time over.
“504! Go to 504”
“There is no one there!”
“yes, they are there!”
“There was nobody there when I went there”
“504! Go to 504!”
“alright, I’ll go again!”
The cops fit in the elevator with the stretcher and paramedics. It closes.
I go to our apartment and find some supplies to clean the stairwell. I do my best to get rid of all the pills.
Heading back down the hall I knock on the door of 504. Expecting that this is it and now I will be on my way to church. I hadn’t thought of it for a long time, but this trip out did start with a destination.
The door is answered by an older women.
“I met your son” two young boys come out behind her, maybe 13 and 11. They say something in Spanish to the women. She nods with a knowing look. Another women comes to the door. Maybe a sister of the man, mid 20s. “He has been here knocking, maybe 60 times.” She says. The boys excitedly agree saying he’s been there,
I explain how I found him in the stairwell and called the ambulance and the police.
“Was he high?” the 13 yr. old asked me
“Yeah,” I apologetically respond “I’m really sorry.”
“Do you know which hospital he is being taken too?” the young woman asks.
“No, sorry, I don’t”
More Spanish is spoken between them.
“Are they still here?” asks the young woman.
“Is the ambulance and police downstairs?” The boy asks.
“I don’t know” I said. The young women and 13 yr. old rush past me. The younger boy and older woman say some things in Spanish. She thanks me.
“Its no problem. I’ll see you later”
We say good bye and I go to the elevator.
When I arrive downstairs I see that the police and ambulance are still out front. I step outside and see the young woman and boy talking to the ambulance driver. As I pass I say “I’m at 522, just down the hall if you ever need anything” “Thank you” she says. “Yeah thanks for what you did” the boy says.
“No problem, I hope he is okay.”
Proceeding to walk down the sidewalk I hit play on the iPod. The beat drops on Relic’s the Green Light. Its sunny outside and the music fits with the weather but not at all with the situation. For some odd reason, I don’t care.
Just as I round the corner I see the cop from the situation laughing with another cop. I pull off my headphones for a few seconds with a lighthearted chuckle he says “Thanks bud”
I contemplate stopping and sharing my disgust with how he treated the Man but instead let out a passive aggressive ”yeah”. Throw the headphones back on and keep walking.
I stop in and get large coffee and a stellar brownie at Homegrown Hamilton before continuing on with my walk to Eucharist and my listen to Relic’s the Green Light. The entire situation spins in my head, over and over. And life goes on.
*This may be pretty poorly written. I apologize. Any questions can be sent to brettmatic@gmail.com
