Hello Buddha

My new apartment smelled of Lysol and fresh paint, a big improvement over the stench of dirty laundry and stale fries that had assaulted me when I toured the place three weeks ago. I opened the shutters, and dust puffed off the slats. Afternoon light flooded the empty room. The walls were architectural white. The wood floor was waxed but with many nicks and scratches, especially around the place where the bed would be. The bathroom door didn’t quite close, and the frame around the window looked like it had been the training ground for a kid with a hammer.

The apartment wasn’t great, but it would do. A month ago, my old landlord had sent me a letter announcing the third big rent increase in as many years, and I decided to find something more affordable. So here I was.

I slid open the closet. It was big enough. The painters had skipped it and left the grayish pastel peach that the previous tenant had used on all the walls. I hated that color, but it didn’t matter; the doors would be closed most of the time, and when my clothes hung there, I wouldn’t see it.

A motion from deep in the closet caught my eye. When I slid the doors to the other side, I found a foot-high, gray-green ceramic statue of Buddha sitting on the shelf with its legs dangling over the edge. Its left arm slowly raised and lowered like Hello Kitty. In sync, its head rotated left and right like a contrary owl. The empty bedroom had no place to put it, so I took it to the kitchen and set it on the edge of the counter facing the front door. I looked for a switch to turn it off but didn’t immediately find one. I left it there waving a greeting to my future visitors.

I finished my tour, satisfied with my mental plan for placing my furniture and accessories. My friends would meet me at the old place in the morning to make the move.

Before I left, I texted the landlord and asked about the Buddha.

“He didn’t want it, and it looked too valuable to throw away. It’s yours.”

Great. A housewarming gift from the slob who lived here before. I took another look and decided that I liked its vibes of new-age kitsch.

Again I tried to turn it off. I ran my fingers all along the ceramic but found no gaps except where the arm and neck moved. I wondered how I would change the batteries. It didn’t matter. I would figure it out when I needed to or toss it if I couldn’t.

The next morning, we arrived at ten o’clock with everything I owned in the U-Haul. I unlocked the apartment door and was greeted by Buddha waving at me. Dave and Brandon hurried past carrying the sofa.

“This thing’s heavy,” Dave said. “Where do you want it?”

I put down the cooler and directed them to the living room where I helped them position the sofa.

I had shared a house with Dave and Brandon at college. Dave was tall and thin with blond hair. Brandon was short and wide and dark and strong as an ox. Given the difference in their heights, Brandon was carrying most of the weight, but it was typical of Dave to lead the complaining.

Britt came in carrying two boxes, her black hair barely visible over the top of them. I met her at work a few years ago. Since we both moved on to new jobs, we’d become good friends, often spending free evenings together – and the occasional sleepover.

Britt squealed. “Oh my God! That’s so adorable.” She put the boxes on the floor and leaned forward in front of Buddha. She imitated his motions with her arm and head. “Where did you get it?”

“It came with the apartment.”

Dave and Brandon stopped beside Britt on their way back to the U-Haul and joined in the motions.

“A Buddhist line dance,” I said.

Brandon did a grapevine, and the others joined. “Bollywood Boogie,” Brandon said and then stepped out the door.

It didn’t take long to empty the truck. By noon we had put all the furniture in more or less the right places and had stacked boxes along the walls. Dave and I returned the truck and came back to the apartment with sandwiches from Hoagie Barn and two sixpacks of Heineken from the 7-11.

When we returned, the bed was made, the food from the cooler was in the fridge and half the dishes were in the cupboards.

“I hope I can find things.”

“It’s all perfectly logical,” Britt said.

Her explanation was cut short by Brandon who grabbed the bag of sandwiches from the counter. “I’m starving,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

We sat at the dining room table. Britt took one bite and got up. She turned the Buddha to face us. “He looked so lonely.”

“That thing’s creepy,” Dave said. “Can’t you stop it?”

“There’s no switch,” I said.

Dave got up and examined it. “You probably need to pull off the head.”

“Don’t you dare,” Britt said.

Dave draped a towel over it that writhed with its movements.

“That’s worse,” Brandon said. He moved around the table with his back to Buddha.

“Move over,” Dave said and sat beside Brandon.

Britt stood up and pulled off the towel. “I kinda like it.”

“Me, too,” I said. “It feels like he belongs here.”

“I can see why the other guy hid it in the closet,” Brandon said.

After lunch, the others left me to deal with my boxes. I spent an hour in the bedroom and then returned to the kitchen. I turned Buddha to face me. “What do you think? Did Britt do a good job?” I silently answered the question for him. I think she did a great job. He raised his arm and turned his head.

“Why am I asking you?” I have answers to all questions in the universe.

I looked at him with my head tilted, then I turned to check what Britt had done. Her assertion was right; it was perfectly logical. I continued unloading boxes for the rest of the kitchen.

At first, I looked at Buddha every few minutes, but as the afternoon progressed, I found myself looking at him more and more often. I asked him questions, and the answers came into my head. “Where does this go?” Under the sink. “Do I need both of these?” One of them’s almost empty. I was certain that he had nothing to do with the answers, but asking the questions out loud seemed to help.

When most of the kitchen boxes were empty, I needed a break. I sat on the sofa with Buddha on the coffee table in front of me. “What do I do with you?” Meditate.

For a few weeks back in college, I dated a girl who was into Eastern mysticism. She urged me to try meditation, but instead of transcendence, all I got was ascendence of a certain part of my anatomy that responded to the tight yoga pants she wore.

“Meditate? Really?” Really.

I crossed my legs in my best imitation of a lotus position. I stared at the Buddha. With his head moving, I couldn’t look him in the eyes, so I focused on the arm. Up. Down. Breathe in. Up. Down. Breathe out.

When I heard a knock on the door, I had no idea how long I had been on the sofa. I had stayed awake, but not a single thought had gone through my brain in all that time. I shook myself out of my trance and opened the door to find Britt.

“I brought pizza.”

She put it on the table.

“Where were you?” she said. “I had to knock five times. I was about to give up.”

“Right there.” I pointed to the sofa. “I guess I was lost in thought.” I didn’t remember five knocks – maybe three.

Before I could pull a couple beers from the fridge, she grabbed my elbow, spun me around and kissed me. “I’m going to like this place,” she said. “It’s a lot more convenient.”

It was about half the distance from her apartment, but that wasn’t why I chose it. At least I didn’t think so. She kissed me again and we both leaned into it.

She pulled away and opened the cupboard. “You didn’t move the dishes.”

“It was all perfectly logical.”

She smiled and took down two plates.

We ate and chatted. When we finished, she surveyed the living room from the sink in the island. “You haven’t made much progress.”

“I finished the kitchen,” I protested, “and the bedroom’s in good shape. Let’s get the living room in order, and then we can watch a movie.”

Britt unstacked and opened the tops of the moving boxes that lay scattered around the room.

“Where should we start?” she said.

With the television. Buddha still sat on the coffee table. I hadn’t looked at him since Britt came, but somehow I knew he was there. The television was exactly the first thing we should do. It would be a lot easier to deal with the cables before the other stuff from the boxes – mostly books and mementos – got in the way.

“Where are the cables for the television?” I said. Britt will find them.

She opened another box. “Here they are.”

As we worked on connecting the TV and the sound system and on getting my PC and PlayStation working, I wondered about Buddha. I must be providing answers to my own questions. I couldn’t believe that the statue somehow injected them into my head. I hadn’t asked any hard questions, and so far, the answers were pretty obvious. But the ready responses had me wondering, and frankly, questioning my sanity.

We emptied the boxes, putting all the contents on the same shelves and in the same order I had them in the old apartment. We stacked the flattened boxes against the door to the porch. All that was left was one box of kitchen stuff – spices and condiments and such – and a bunch of pictures to hang. I could finish that in the morning.

I got two more beers. “What should we watch?” Casablanca.

“You know I like Casablanca.” It was the third time we had watched it together. Britt knew all the good lines and sang along with the Marseillaise. She held my hand when Rick and Ilsa kissed. At the airport scene, she cried when Rick sent Ilsa and Laszlo away on the plane. At the very end, as Rick and Renault walked into the fog, she took my hand and spoke along with Rick. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

After a deep, lingering kiss, I said: “Let’s go see if we put that bed together the right way.”

In the morning, I made pancakes with bacon and French drip coffee. We hung pictures together with Britt acting as my level.

“I have to go,” she said. “I promised Mom I’d have lunch with her.”

When we kissed goodbye, she gave me an extra squeeze. “I love you,” she said. I returned her squeeze but didn’t say anything. Our fingers touched until the door swung to close.

It was the first time either of us had used the L-word and it made me nervous. I enjoyed our time together, but if she was looking for a bigger commitment, I wasn’t ready. I would be happy if our friends-with-benefits relationship went on forever.

I sat down on the couch and looked at the Buddha. “What should I do with her?”

Ask her to marry you.

That was the wrong answer. I picked up the Buddha, carried him into the bedroom and put him on the closet shelf. Then I slid the door shut.