Posts Tagged ‘Nadia’

Eyes

February 3, 2017

Eyes

She had them. Her eyes spoke without words. Their expression was deep and powerful. She was known as the woman with the brown eyes. The eyes told of her struggles, her attempts at getting things under control so that no one would guess the truth. She looked at you and it was understood. Her life wasn’t much  good. She lived with her animals, her 3 dogs. They were the only family she had. She could count on her animals like she couldn’t count on people. Here they are, she would say. They are the children I never had. I love them and they love me. I can’t say the same for anyone else. Where are those people anyway? I don’t see them.

 

 

 

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I am Them

October 7, 2012

I Am Them

My Tia, my beloved Aunt, when she was evicted years ago. My friend Nadia when she was living alone and forgotten after her days of glory. I have their stories in my brain and in my soul. What they suffered, I suffered. What they felt, I felt. Now it is my turn, my turn to go through experiences that are overwhelming to say the least. My poor Tia paid 3 times the market rate in rent for a dilapidated 2 bedroom house-like apt. in Buenos Aires. That high price was illegal on the landlady’s part, but she still got away with getting the extra rent money. And my Tia had no home after all her years of hard work and honesty. Nadia lived with her 3 dogs for company. They were her family, the only family she could count on. They were there, even if the food supply was iffy, even if she couldn’t walk them as often as they needed to be walked. She was tired. My Tia was tired. She lived for 10 months after her eviction; then she gave up and closed her eyes. Nadia fought until the very last minute for her life. The dogs screamed and yelled. Nobody paid attention until the fire dept. got in and found Nadia dead clutching her house keys by the front door.

Now I am fighting a battle similar to theirs. I am evicted. I don’t know how this happened, but it is like another foreclosure. This one feels worse than the first one 7 years ago when I lost my home in GA. It is a hard blow. The experience is surreal, as if it were a horrible dream somebody made up just to make me sad. A bad dream to show me that I cannot have a home.

The Day You Went

June 1, 2012

The Day You Went

It was an early June morning. They knocked on the door. I let 3 cops inside my apt. Did you know the old lady? Yes, she is my friend. We spend a lot of time together. She’s dead, the young cop told me. I sat down. I could not look at them. How did it happen? There was a fire. She lit a candle and went to sleep.

I imagined you, my friend, stretched out on the bed with the dogs next to you. You were so tired that night you came to my apt. How could I know it would be the last time I’d see you? I wanted to say something to comfort you—you were at the end of your rope—but I didn’t know what. I am sorry I let you go home alone. You had no phone. There was no way for you to call me, call anybody, when you woke up and smelled something funny. I miss your dark brown eyes and the shadows under them. I miss you. Wherever you are in Heaven, I will see you again.

Two of the dogs, both brothers, died with you. One of them was my special friend. The third dog went to the kitchen and stood by an open window. Then animal control took him. The cage, I was told later, was way too small for a German sheperd. He survived it and became the best dog any owner ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Day You Went

It was an early June morning. They knocked on the door. I let 3 cops inside my apt. Did you know the old lady? Yes, she is my friend. We spend a lot of time together. She’s dead, the young cop told me. I sat down. I could not look at them. How did it happen? There was a fire. She lit a candle and went to sleep.

I imagined you, my friend, stretched out on the bed with the dogs next to you. You were so tired that night you came to my apt. How could I know it would be the last time I’d see you? I wanted to say something to comfort you—you were at the end of your rope—but I didn’t know what. I am sorry I let you go home alone. You had no phone. There was no way for you to call me, call anybody, when you woke up and smelled something funny. I miss your dark brown eyes and the shadows under them. I miss you. Wherever you are in Heaven, I will see you again.

Two of the dogs, both brothers, died with you. One of them was my special friend. The third dog went to the kitchen and stood by an open window. Then animal control took him. The cage, I was told later, was way too small for a German sheperd. He survived it and became the best dog any owner ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Day You Went

It was an early June morning. They knocked on the door. I let 3 cops inside my apt. Did you know the old lady? Yes, she is my friend. We spend a lot of time together. She’s dead, the young cop told me. I sat down. I could not look at them. How did it happen? There was a fire. She lit a candle and went to sleep.

I imagined you, my friend, stretched out on the bed with the dogs next to you. You were so tired that night you came to my apt. How could I know it would be the last time I’d see you? I wanted to say something to comfort you—you were at the end of your rope—but I didn’t know what. I am sorry I let you go home alone. You had no phone. There was no way for you to call me, call anybody, when you woke up and smelled something funny. I miss your dark brown eyes and the shadows under them. I miss you. Wherever you are in Heaven, I will see you again.

Two of the dogs, both brothers, died with you. One of them was my special friend. The third dog went to the kitchen and stood by an open window. Then animal control took him. The cage, I was told later, was way too small for a German sheperd. He survived it and became the best dog any owner ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nadia Remembered

June 10, 2008

Tuesday, June 10, 2008: It was a Thursday. Very early in the morning. You tried everything to survive, just like had done it your entire life, but the fire was too great. You thought of everything to draw attention to yourself and your dogs. I know they barked for help, and I know you must have yelled.

9 Years

June 9, 2008

Monday, June 9, 2008: Tomorrow it will be 9 years. Nadia died 9 years ago in that horrible fire. It was a Thursday morning and she did everything she could to ask for help. No one came until it was too late. She died of asphixiation, with two of her dogs, Otranto and Niebla. The firemen found her next to the front door. She had been clutching the house keys.

Nadia

March 30, 2008

March 30, 2008: Today would have been Nadia’s 84th birthday. I only knew her for four months and a week, but I have never forgotten her. Nadia had something that tugged at my heartstrings. I loved her very much. She had been a self-made woman who suddenly lost it and ended up living in a large and filthy apt. With her 3 dogs. No one was taking care of her when I met her on February 3, 1999.
I had seen her around the neighborhood walking her black dog Otranto, but we didn’t talk until that Wednesday afternoon. I was on my way to the movies to see the modern version of the Cinderella tale, starring Drew Barrymore and Anjelica Huston. I had noticed her dark brown eyes and the dark circles under them and her long black and white hair. She was dressed shabbily—baggy trousers, dirty tennis shoes and a long sleeved top. I didn’t want to be late for the movie, which was all the way in the Palermo neighborhood, almost an hour away from Vicente Lopez. But I wanted to talk to her. After that, we ran into each other until she invited me up to her apt. on the 1700 block of Avenida Maipu. It was something out of the Miss Havisham character in Dickens’ novel Great Expectations.
That March 30, 1999 Nadia had a better birthday. I went to Depto. 10 F, knocked on her door. Her dogs were behind her when she opened. I will never forget her face, or the way Otranto, Niebla and Rubio were protecting her. You were the only one who remembered, she told me. That evening we had a little party in my apt. There was a cake, sandwiches, tea and coffee. Even her adopted son showed up. Nadia was happy.