A Place To Go

The door looked innocent enough, with its muted yellow color and dark wood trim. The handle was burnished brass, and someone had placed a Welcome mat on the floor many years ago. The once bright flowers were now faded, and the W was mostly scratched off. 

Noah knew the innocuous looking door led to the home of the frowning old lady and her husband. When Noah and his mom moved in, the elderly couple tracked their movements from their first-story window and even peeked through a crack in their door. Two sets of steely eyes followed them as they carted black plastic bags and cardboard boxes filled with charity clothes and mismatched kitchenware up the single flight of stairs. 

Whenever Noah walked past the door on the way to the stairs, he closed his eyes and scurried past. He kept close to his mom, knowing she would keep him safe if the door opened and the man with the caterpillar eyebrows scowled at them. 

He never imagined this door would lead to his sanctuary. 

Noah and his mom recently moved in the second-floor apartment in the building on the corner of Third St and Hill Road. The eight-story building had seen better days. By the time they arrived, the window seals were peeling, leaving greyish-white strips hanging like vines. Parts of the red brick along the outside of the building had chipped off, and stray cats walked the remaining edges like a tight rope.  

Noah didn’t care if the apartment was falling apart. This was the first home that was only his and his mother’s and he loved it. Overtime, they added plants in the empty, light filled spaces and placed donated quilts on the couch they’d found. His mother hung up his school art on a dollar-store clothesline in the hallway. More than once, Noah saw her smile as she looked at his stick figure drawings and rainbows and rectangle houses with tiny windows and swirls of chimney smoke.

The walls were thin in the apartment. The downstairs neighbors knocked on their ceiling whenever Noah was too loud, and his mother would scowl down at the floor. “Cranky old people don’t like kids?” she’d say. 

Noah was tall for his age and very thin. His mom could wrap her fingers around his wrists with room to spare. His body was constantly in motion. His legs bumped and shook when he sat on the couch. He jumped on the bed. He shot pretend air basketballs into the trashcan from his bed. Being still and quiet in the apartment was difficult, but he tried hard because he didn’t want to make the downstairs neighbors mad. He liked the apartment and didn’t want to ever move. It was the first one without his mother’s boyfriend living with them, and his mother was happier. She smiled more and slept all night and made pancakes for breakfast. 

Noah started third grade that year. He was in a new school and caught the yellow school bus at the end of the block. He stood outside no matter the weather every morning at 7:30am. Another boy, Sam, waited there, too. Sam was short and liked basketball. They became friends.

Some mornings, he’d see the old couple on the first-floor peer at them. The old man’s mouth was set in a scary straight line that remined him of a dagger he’d seen on tv once. Long bushy grey eyebrows framed narrowed eyes. The old woman wore flowered housedresses and had short curly white hair. Her brittle popsicle arms poked out of her dress sleeves. Her arms were as skinny as Noah’s. She never smiled and quickly pulled away from the window when Noah stared back. Sam made funny faces at them. Noah was too scared to make faces. He thought they might tell his mother.

He went trick-or-treating at Halloween with Sam. They both cut out holes in sheets and went as ghosts. They used pillowcases from their beds to hold the candy. They started in Sam’s building because more people lived there. By the time they made it to Noah’s building, their cases were half-full, and their mouths were covered in chocolate hurriedly eaten on the walk over. Their moms let them go alone but repeatedly warned them not to leave the block. They felt grown up without their moms following them around.  

“I dare you to knock on their door,” Noah said, peering around the corner at the old people’s door on the first floor. 

“I double dog dare you,” Sam replied.

They gathered up their courage and knocked. They waited a few moments, sticky hand smothering their giggles, and knocked again. The door slowly creaked open and the old man with the mustache stood in front of them. The smell of baked pumpkin wafted out. 

The boys stared at him, wide-eyed. “Trick-or-treat,” they said in unison. 

They boys watched as the man dropped handfuls of Tootsie Rolls and Werther’s Originals in their open bags. 

“Would you boys like a muffin?” The man asked. They nodded and were each handed little sandwich bags containing an orange muffin. The edge of the plastic bag was closed over the top for protection. 

“Thank you,” they said. The man grunted and closed the door with a little click. 

Noah and Sam looked at each other. “That went better than I expected,” Noah said. “Come on, let’s go to the upper floors.” 

##

In the spring, Mom found a boyfriend, Erik. He was tall and blonde and had armfuls of tattoos. He was nice at first, like all her other boyfriends, but after a few weeks he started eyeing Noah like he was a bug that needed to be re-homed. Erik quickly became a permanent fixture in their apartment. Noah spent more time in his bedroom when he wasn’t at school so he wouldn’t be in their way. His mother giggled and wore makeup and acted annoying. She didn’t watch Disney movies with Noah because Erik thought they were silly or make him pancakes in the morning because Erik thought they were fattening. 

Sam had stopped being his friend because the other boys in their grade didn’t like Noah. They stood apart from each other at the bus stop and didn’t talk. Noah didn’t know why the boys didn’t like him and he didn’t care. They were stupid. He did care that Sam wasn’t his friend, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been friendless, so he pretended like it didn’t bother him. 

The mornings were chilly, and Noah’s coat was thin. He looked longingly at the warm light in the old people’s apartment and wished he were inside eating a muffin. Did they have family? Were they alone? Noah never saw anyone else come in or out of the apartment. Shouldn’t old people have children to take care of them? He would take care of his mom when she was old. 

Spring’s breezes blew out and summer’s heat blew in. School was out and Noah was at home all day. His mother worked at the grocery store. Erik wanted her home in the evenings, so she worked during the day, leaving Noah alone. He was nine. He greatly preferred being home alone to having Erik there. When he didn’t have any construction work, which was most of the time, Erik napped on the couch and Noah had to be extra quiet. He’d get hungry but was afraid the noise in the kitchen would wake Erik. 

One day, Noah was starving. Erik’s snores kept Noah in his room, afraid to come out. He picked at his nails, unsure of what to do. He could open the jars of peanut butter and jelly silently, but the ancient refrigerator door was loud and creaky and would surely make noise. The bread was on a high shelf in the pantry, and he’d need to pull over a chair to reach it. It was too risky. Erik would wake up and get mad. 

Erik’s pale face would get red, and he’d yell, “Quiet! I work hard every damn day, not that a snot-nosed little kid would know what that meant.” 

Noah didn’t like it when Erik yelled. And he knew Erik didn’t work every day.  

The window in his mother’s bedroom led to a metal fire escape. The bottom steps were pulled up, but Noah thought he was skinny enough to get through the bars. After gathering his courage through various silent pep talks, he tiptoed down the hall to the bedroom, climbed down the flight of metal steps, wiggled through the rails without getting any rust flakes on his clothes, and dropped down to the concrete sidewalk. This led to the window outside of the old people’s apartment.

He didn’t know how he’d get back in his room but figured that was a problem for later. The window shade behind the window moved and Noah saw an eye scrutinize at him. The shade moved upward until the face of the old woman appeared. She slowly opened the window, the creaks assaulted Noah’s ears. “What are you doing out here, child?” she asked. 

“Nothing, uh, going to get some lunch.” He had a dollar and figured he could get a bag of chips at the café down the street. 

She waved towards the front of the building. “I’ll make lunch for you,” she said. The window and shade thwapped shut, leaving Noah no chance to respond. 

Noah walked to their door and hesitantly knocked before it flew open. The old man stood there, like on Halloween months before. “Come in,” he said, his deep voice raspy as a cheese grater.  

The apartment was like nothing Noah had ever seen. Where his apartment was open and light, this one was filled with old furniture that smelled of oranges and tiny fragile sculptures of birds and flowers and children. The couch was covered in plastic and stacks of Reader’s Digests were on the coffee table next to three remote controls of varying sizes. Noah heard noise coming from the kitchen and walked over to see the old woman setting down a plate and pulling out things from the refrigerator. 

“Sit, sit,” she said, gesturing to the round table just outside the kitchen. She brought him lemonade and a ham sandwich and chips. He scarfed it down, so she made him another. After he was full, the old man brought out an old deck of cards and taught him out to play War. 

He found out their names were Yelena and Albert. They were from Russia but had lived in the United States for many years, most of which were spent in their current apartment. They had no children and didn’t travel. Their English was bumpy and sometimes Noah nodded his head even though he didn’t understand what they were saying. He told them about his mother working and Erik sleeping.

When Noah heard the building’s front door slam and the click of heels, he waited a couple of minutes and left their apartment with the promise that he would return the next day. He snuck in behind his mother and told her he was playing outside with neighbor boys. Erik didn’t even know he had left. 

For the rest of the summer, Yelena’s and Albert’s apartment became a refuge for Noah. They brought out worn boxes of games. Checkers and Monopoly and Parcheesi. Albert and Noah played while Yelena fussed around, bringing them food he’d never heard of. Blini and stroganoff and pelmeni. Their early reticence turned into a comforting warmth. Where Noah had thought them mean and quiet, when, in actuality, they were bored and lonely. They welcomed him when he needed it most. 

Albert tired easily and would take to his room for a nap in the late afternoon sun, while Noah and Yelena watched her daytime shows together. He’d stay until his mother came home. After a few stealthy weeks, his mother discovered where he spent his days and stopped by to meet his new friends. She was grateful to them, and relieved that Noah had a place to be while she was at work. Their apartment easily became his favorite place to be, especially with Erik essentially living in their apartment. Noah didn’t understand why his mother kept Erik around, when they had been so happy alone. But he rarely understood much of what adults did. He was grateful to have some place to go, and new friends to be with.