Power

I was talking to my sister on Facetime when the call dropped. I tried calling her back. Furiously tapping her name on the screen, hanging up, and repeating the process yielded no positive results. From the couch I looked towards the kitchen at the microwave. It was blinking 00:00. I put my hand to my forehead and rubbed my temples. It was a Friday night, and I had been making plans to go to dinner with my sister. Even though we lived in the same city, we haven’t seen each other through the pandemic. Now that we were both vaccinated, I was looking forward to a sort of reunion.

I studied my apartment. Everything was immaculate. The bookshelf was dusted, the rug vacuumed, the table wiped off, the bed made. Only one chore remained, and it remained because it was my least favorite. Since I wasn’t running out to dinner, I had no excuses left. I would take out the trash with the hopes that when I returned, the power would be restored, and I could call my sister back.

Getting the trash bag out of the can and downstairs was easy. The part I didn’t enjoy was leaving it in the courtyard out back. First I’d have to prop the door open. There was a brick left there for that exact purpose. I always pulled the lock out so that it would catch in the wall if the door were to close. If the door closed, I was locked out. My keys didn’t work on that door, which I learned during my first week in the building. I spent almost a half hour banging on the door before I realized that in a big city, they likely thought someone was hammering. Eventually someone came for me, but it was traumatizing. The courtyard itself was not maintained. There was trash all over the ground that never got cleaned up. Sometimes I count how many times I see the same can of cat food on the ground.

I left my trash and turned to go inside when I saw a neighbor bringing his trash down, as well. During my 3 years in this building, I had yet to run into a neighbor while bringing out my trash. Most of the people in the building didn’t want to be bothered, so I wasn’t about to start a conversation with him. I politely smiled and skirted past him in the doorway. He called out after me, “So is your power out, too?”

“It is! I have no idea what happened! Have you heard anything about it?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “We were guessing a drunk driver or maybe someone hit something, but our cell service has been spotty all evening, too. Can’t even call anyone!”

“Same! I’m so bored I’m looking for chores to do!” I said.

“I hear you!,” he replied. “My boyfriend and I broke out a few old board games, but they all need more than two players. Would you want to come over and sit with us for a bit? We’ve got wine!”

I followed him upstairs. He lived on my floor, three doors down from me. Once on our floor, we ran into another neighbor who was standing outside her door with her phone in the air. She was moaning and cursing under her breath. My new friend Mark invited her to our game night, as well. She threw her phone on the counter, grabbed her keys, and came with us.

Mark’s boyfriend Tyler had Trivial Pursuit out on a coffee table in the center of the small apartment. There were candles scattered around the perimeter. Gabbi, and I joined him around the table. We sat on oversized pillows. Mark brought over a bottle of red wine and some glasses. 

Over the next 3 hours, we played, talked, and drank. I learned that Mark was originally from a small town in Indiana where his conservative family remained. They didn’t support him in his relationship with Tyler. The pain in his voice while he spoke made each of us gasp and hold in a breath as he detailed the night his parents kicked him out of the house. Tyler had been more fortunate. His family moved from LA to New York when he was 6, and he came to Philly for college. He majored in gender studies and was a freelance writer. He used his writing to speak out for those that couldn’t. They were perfectly matched.

Gabbi came to the US from Mexico when she was 8. Her parents overstayed on their work visas. I’d never met a dreamer before. She almost cried when she spoke about her hometown of Oaxaca. She could barely remember it, but fear of getting her parents or herself deported kept her firmly in the US. She talked about other countries she would visit one day once she became a citizen. I wondered how she could remain so optimistic and maintain a positive attitude towards a country that kept her in limbo for so long.

Through laughter and tears, we passed the time. We shared intimate details of our lives, talked about hopes and dreams. I opened up and revealed that I’d been abused in my last relationship. It’s likely the reason I’m still alone at 34. I haven't been interested in being with anyone since. I’d never told anyone that before. Hearing the words cross my lips was surreal, but once it was out, the bricks were unloaded from my chest. I could breathe. Perhaps it was that first sip of fresh air that brought the lights back on. We all felt it. A veil was lifted. We were brought out of the drunken, candle lit stupor that we’d been soaking in. Gabbi was the first to break the silence.

“I need to see if my mother called me,” she said and rushed from the room.

A few seconds later, I heard her apartment door close. Mark and Tyler checked their phones, as well. I waited in silence for them to look up from their screens imagining they might at least see me out. When that didn’t happen, I slowly got to my feet and began inching towards the door. 

“I guess I should go call my sister back, too,” I said in a form of goodbye.

I think they said something, but I didn’t hear what it was.