The Apartment

4.2.07
Days in China
I sit crouched in the one room that is the apartment of Jenny and Jack. The wall is scuffed and cracked. Shoe marks and countless nicks and scrapes are chronicled there. The wall clock etches out the seconds with a scratching hoarse cough sound. The one light above cast shadows in the corners where it cannot fight the darkness. The bed constitutes the room. The bed made for one sleeps two. Last night it only slept me for my hosts set up camp in a neighboring room. The hand towels we use to dry ourselves drip from a yellow plastic hanger as my stomach groans and grumbles.
A blue curtain separates my life from the public path outside. The curtain proudly once, but now sadly and with a bit of shame wishes “sweet dreams, bright moon and clear sky” the inhabitants. Stars grace the pattern and sing a childhood favorite… “ Twinkle, Twinkle little star…” however the curtain is hung upside down and I wonder if it has ever been noticed.
Newspaper hangs from the pipe that runs along the wall. The pipe serves as a shelf of sorts because it stands several inches out. Coffee tin, sweet mayonnaise salad dressing, the box of a hair crimper, picture frame and a teddy bear all call this pipe home.
Two sheets of newspaper dodgily hang taped to the upper window to provide privacy from the stair way outside. An hour ago, both the stairway and the path outside the door were major thoroughfares. Now at nine-thirty most everyone is already where they were going.
The desk is the only other furniture this room can accommodate. A fragile wooden structure decorated with plastic linoleum tile. A basket containing tasters of food stuffs. Nescafe single servings, powders of various consistencies and qualities. A red plastic bag of sweet potato chips acquired yesterday from the street market the swarms across the main street from here. The clock scratches away at time. Two mugs rest in mid-use. Paper towel for toilet purposes, keys to this establishment, a vitamin jar, a well worn, tattered yet still blinking cell phone, and a flat screen 19” LCD monitor for a modern enough computer. A red plastic bag of oranges. A chair reminiscent of 1950’s school houses, a water thermos typical in any home or business in China, a thermos that can provide a days worth and more of hot water for drinking, washing and any other imaginable purpose.
There is a scuffle outside in the hall. Moving of bicycles, the unlocking of doors, the hollers back and forth. Old woman. To man. Man to old woman. The sound of key tones. Cell phone or house alarm although the latter seems improbable. The conversation drops to a whisper outside my door at their door across the way. Someone is hauling boxes down the stairs, the scrape and thud is unmistakable.
The clock scratches away at time.
It is cozy and cramped. It seems insufficient and destitute. Time marks this point emphasizing the harshness of this place. But within a matter of no time at all it became home to three of us and with minimal maneuvering we spent several hours cavorting, frolicking and enjoying each others presence of which we were right up against. The cavorting and frolicking, at least in the metaphysical sense.

I am blessed with an immense urge to urinate while my stomach once again asserts it presence in audible growls. Yet beyond the obvious this dwelling is not graced with a commode… or any sort of facility. In order to find such a place I have to walk from here out the door, down the hall, turn left and the enclosed tree by the second stairway, down that hall and out into the light. From there I have a choice to make. Right or left. As it so happens this location is blessed with two equidistant latrines. If I choose left I will have to wind my way through a short labyrinth of allies and people. If I choose right it is a straight shot, but a considerable walk. The equivalent of several blocks…. Not city blocks, residential blocks. There I will find the desired location… or rather the closest approximation of the desired location. The desired location, in my ultimate spoiled-ness would be a place where I could pee in private without the eyes of others gracing my bottom. I have come to realize that the desired location is not even a place where I can sit… or flush, that these are mere frivolities and obscene luxuries. What I desire most is a modicum of privacy. I can overcome the stench. And the filth even for a breath of privacy. The one person, brick, three walled hut of the villages and the mother’s home. That is it. But privacy lacking, eventually urge overtakes even modesty and it is endured with minimal injury. When I walk away I wonder what all the fuss was about.
One might think after the shower I would be able to handle anything. Who knew I was such a wuss? Not even I would have imagined it.