Wilted

There’s something to be said about humanity's fear of judgement. We are so afraid of what others think that it can even force our hands into doing something we will regret, or cause us to regret not doing anything at all. There’s also no clear line between right and wrong, so sometimes we look to others' judgement to help us decide when to move, and when to stand still. But more than all of that, the fear of putting ourselves out there for someone else’s sake is so overpowering that even when we know we should do something, we don’t. “It could be troublesome, it could cause me to look bad, it could somehow negatively affect me” are all thoughts that go through our minds when faced with decisions. In Psychology, there’s a term called “Kitty Genovese Syndrome” which refers to the mentality that “someone else will do it if I don’t”. This is a dangerous mindset, of course, because Kitty Genovese was stabbed to death while multiple people witnessed, and no one helped her because they believed someone else would do it. This is also known as the Bystander effect.

Through the window of my tiny apartment, I could see right into my neighbor's living room. They didn’t know this, of course, and I was too afraid of appearing like a stalker to tell them to invest in some blinds. Every day I would see the young woman across from me watering her orchid that she had placed on her window sill a while back. A gift from her husband who wasn’t home much, most likely, as she didn’t seem like she had the greenest of thumbs. He seemed the type to have to give apology gifts often, too. But it was hard to bite my tongue as I watched her water the flower daily. She more than likely didn’t know that the Orchid gets a lot of its water from moisture in the air and can easily be over watered. It was, of course, none of my business, but I could see the flower begin to wilt a little bit each day, along with the young woman. Not that I was paying too much attention, but it didn’t take a lot to notice that she was lonely. Her husband spent more time away than he did at home, and when he was home… well, let’s just say the whole complex could hear his temper.

Late one evening as I was returning home from work I was joined in the elevator by the young lady, who gave a weak smile and nod as she stepped in. She stood in front of me and didn’t say a word, but the way her hair was bunched onto her shoulders said enough for them both. Bruises like necklaces laid above her shoulders, which seemed so tiny as she silently waited to reach her floor. Every fiber of my being wanted to reach out and ask if she needed help, but I bit my lip as the elevator dinged and she ducked her head and scurried out. Who would share something like that with a stranger anyway is what I told myself as I reasoned that it would have been pointless to say anything anyway.

The neighbor on my opposite side was a nice old woman named Mrs. Crosbie, who was a retired nurse who made a mean lasagna. I recognized the tiny knocks on my door, and was not surprised to see the tiny woman with a big tray of lasagna for me. 

“Thursday already, huh?” I joked as I took the tray from her hands and she smiled from ear to ear.

“Well, sometimes Tuesdays can feel an awful lot like Thursdays.” She replied gently, “There’s a special ingredient this week too!” 

“I can’t wait to try it! Would you like to come in?” I asked, despite that in the 2 years I’d lived here she had never taken me up on that offer.

“No, no. I have another tray to deliver to the sweet young lady next door. She’s a lot like you, you’re both basically young ladies living all alone. I worry about you both…” Mrs. Crosbie said quietly, as the unspoken words between us both lingered in the air.

I nodded slowly, and shifted my weight uncomfortably. “That’s very nice of you, ma’am. Maybe I’ll say hello to her next time I see her.” 

“It would be good if you made friends dear, but I’ve been dropping off lasagna to her for 3 weeks now and she’s yet to answer the door.” She sighed, shrugging her sagging shoulders.

I smiled and thanked her for the food again, then slowly closed the door. Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over to my window to peak over next door again. I could hear Mrs. Crosbie shuffle down the hall, and watched as the young woman seemed to wait for her to leave before opening her door and taking the tray inside. She held the aluminum tray in her hands like it was gold, and collapsed to the ground in tears. It almost made me wonder if this young lady had ever experienced kindness, or if she just really loved lasagna.

Two nights later, I awoke with a start at the sound of a loud bang. My eyes peered sleepily at the clock, where a blaring red “3:01am” screamed back at me. Carefully maneuvering my way through the darkness, I flipped on my living room lights and peeked through my shades and was horrified to see the neighbor’s husband throwing all manner of objects across the room, yelling like an animal. Stepping back quickly, I looked over at my phone which stared mockingly back at me. I knew I should call the cops, so what was stopping me? What if they did nothing, and I only made it worse? Plus, with all that banging, there was no way someone hadn’t already called the police. I clamped my eyes shut as the yelling got worse, and breathed a sigh of relief when it finally stopped. The husband must have left, I thought, as I slowly made my way back to my bedroom.

I had never much been into psychology, or the study of human behavior. That was, of course, until I became a living example of failure to exhibit basic human kindness. I could hear the sirens wail pounding against my ears as I stood in front of my window. The orchid, once beautiful and tall, now stood shriveled and slumped in it’s pot. I could see officers talking inside as a body was brought out in a long black bag on a stretcher, and berated myself repeatedly. I could have said something about the orchid. I could have asked that girl if she needed help. I could have saved both of their lives. What stopped me? Fear? I’ve since realized that it’s okay to be afraid, but powering through that fear is what makes us brave. And I will never be afraid to be brave again.