Exchanges With Mina

Three days into the blackout it was pitch dark inside and outside. I was contemplating my next move.

It had been 6 years, 3 months, 4 days and 7 hours since I'd last left the apartment. I lived there, all day, all night, every day of the week, every week of the year. 

It’s a nice enough apartment. It’s right on sixth avenue and I don’t have a set of eyes right across the street, peering in at me. There's no rear window situation. There’s a little distance between us, because of the triangular park they built on the street below a long time ago. Father Fagan park. God bless Father Fagan who lost his life so others might live and I might have privacy. 

In a large city like Manhattan, you don’t ever have to leave home. If you live in the suburbs, perhaps you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s a whole different world. None of that Costco crap. I had everything delivered. Food, toiletries, meals, cronuts, coffee, cigarettes. Weed. You name it, and I had it sent over. Girls? No, I didn't do that. Not then anyway. But I made my contribution to the delivery economy. If ever it was hurting, it wasn't because of me. 

You wonder about sunshine? I got it through my eastern window. 

Another thing, I didn’t have to deal with the seasons. A major upside, amongst others, of staying in. No bulky coats, no gloves, no ugly beanies, no sweat stains on my T shirts. No umbrellas. No galoshes. My wardrobe was simpler without seasons.

* * *

But then, one fine day, it all went wrong. 

First, there was the big storm, the storm of the century, the storm that was going to blow all of Manhattan down. They called it Sandy, like the name of a girl you might have a crush on one summer, but it was so not that kind of Sandy. I had pooh poohed it. I had said it was going to be a storm in a teacup. But I was wrong. The storm was definitely worse than Manhattan expected. 

And that wasn’t all of it. 

A power station blew on 14th street, a bit of electricity that lost its way, and at 5 am that morning, I woke up in a slight sweat, knowing something was wrong. If you live in the city, you’re used to the little hums of your apartment and the big hums of the city, and that humming was gone. My refrigerator, for instance. Deathly quiet.

Here are the things that you lose when you lose power. Things I did not think of initially. The pilot flame in your gas stove. The evergreen charge in your phone. The internet. The water in your toilet. That water is driven by a pump that runs on electricity. Ben Franklin, Michael Faraday and Thomas Edison, they were all laughing somewhere in their graves. Those Americans, they don’t think of us enough, but today they will, they chuckled. Some of us did. The rest just thought of ConEd and cursed. 

I didn’t finish my list. Losing power makes you lose one more thing. Your sanity.

You lose the elevator too. But it was not one of the things I missed. Not at that time anyway.

* * *

Maybe you’re wondering why I never left home. What terrible thing had happened to me to keep me confined to the four walls of my Soho pad forever. 

This is why. 

6 years, 3 months, 5 days and 15 hours before, I had been walking on the street, minding my own business, just another schoolboy in his sophomore year on his way to Stuyvesant High, when an unmarked black car, SUV variety, pulled over by the sidewalk near me. Two men jumped out and pushed me in without saying so much as a yo yo yo, a how ya doing or a good mornin’. Some people don’t think introductions are necessary. Now if they had, they might have realized they got the wrong kid. Not the grandson of the extremely wealthy Prince of Turkmenistan whom they were targeting for a handsome ransom, but some other poor schmuck, me, not particularly wealthy, fatherless on account of Dad having passed away via heart attack when I was five, and mother working as an artist. Two tragedies. I have nothing against art, but sometimes it doesn’t quite pay all the bills. The only thing we owned was the apartment, courtesy Dad, which is what they call a highly illiquid asset.

Lesson for kidnappers: all Russians don't look the same. I know the grandson wasn't Russian but you know what I mean.

Here’s the thing. They found out within the next hour that I was the wrong guy but didn’t return me to that sidewalk until the next day. A full day when I was cold, tired, hungry and most of all scared shitless.

I think that’s what pushed mum over the edge. She was always a bit looney, god protect her gentle soul, hearing voices and the like, but my kidnapping was too much to deal with. 

Post sidewalk deposit, I trudged home in a daze. Walking on the street in Manhattan can clear your head. 

Then I got home and it was clear that mom needed to be checked in. For a long time.

I’ve always been good with math, numbers and probabilities, so I started trading stocks. Now I had income, security and the co-op was mine. Danger lurked outside. It was as simple as a six plus seven. Why leave?

Till now. My carefully constructed life was falling apart, all because of the power cut.

* * * 

Day three. The toilet was out of water, the fridge stank, the food was rotten and my phone was out of juice. 

And no phone means no delivery.

That’s when I heard a knock on my door. 

I put the chain on the lock and opened the door two inches, candle in hand.

“Hi, I’m in 10C,” she said. "Mina." Young woman, slim, dark hair, dark eyes. Were those dark circles under her eyes? 

“I’m in 10E,” I said. “Sasha.”

“I know,” she laughed. “The 10E part. I knocked on your door,” she explained.

We stood there for a moment only seeing a sliver of each other. What can you tell from a two inch longitudinal sample, that too in bad light? Everything and nothing.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

I thought about this for a second. It was unlikely she would kidnap me.

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose you can.”

So I let her in. She told me that we were the only two people left on the floor. 

“Everyone else has taken off. Either a hotel or their place in the Hamptons or something. No one knows how long this thing is going to last.” As she spoke I saw her eyes wander around my apartment, taking in what she could of the surroundings. I had lit a few candles affording us a little light. The bookshelf in the corner, the giant ficus tree in the other corner, the paintings on the wall, the accent chair. Things my mom had left over.

“You know the weird thing?” she said, suddenly studying me intently. “I don't think I’ve ever seen you before. At all.”

“Ah,” I said, “That’s not weird. I don’t get out much.” 

She wrinkled up her nose. I suddenly noticed she was quite pretty. “Something smells weird in here,” she said.

“I have a dead body in the fridge,” I said pleasantly. "Rotting."

At this she laughed. Thank god she had a sense of humor.

Then she got up to leave, it seemed, reluctantly. “I guess I should get going,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. 

At the door, she paused. “Say, can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure,” I said.

“You know, I’m really scared of the dark. Do you think I could sleep here tonight?” 

She must have seen a look of horror cross my face because she followed up quickly with, ”Just while the power's gone. And on the sofa. I mean, I wouldn’t take your bed or anything. Just. I’d feel safer being somewhere with someone.”

Any young man of twenty two would have jumped at this proposition, but it made me nervous. Surprise and confusion coursed through me, chased by a hint of adrenaline. I was a creature of extreme routine, and my routine had been severely disrupted, first by the power cut, and now by this intrusion. I was about to say that I wasn't quite sure, etcetera etcetera, when realization dawned on me. This was my ticket to normalcy.

“Yes,” I spluttered. “Of course. You can sleep on my couch.”

Mina was back at 10 pm that night in a traditional pyjama set, toothbrush in hand. “I texted my friend Angie to tell her what a sweet neighbor you are,” she said, letting me know that a pal had my number and I would be nailed for any attempted hanky panky. The last thing on my mind. At least then. I was salivating over far more pedestrian pursuits.

We said our good nights and I retreated to my bedroom.

* * * 

The next morning, I greeted her at 7 am. “Good morning,” I said. 

She rubbed her eyes and swung her legs to the ground. 

“I’ll get out of here in a minute,” she said. As she gathered her things to leave, she looked at me. “Oh. Is there anything you need that I can get you?” she asked. "I'm going uptown." The magic question. This was the moment I had been waiting for. In my mind’s eye, I pumped a fist in the air.

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind,” I said, casually. “I really need to have my phone charged.” I let my voice trail off. While lower Manhattan was in darkness, the rest of the city had electricity. And once I had my phone, I would have my old gateway to everything I needed. Delivery.

“No problem!” she replied cheerfully.

* * *

The power cut lasted 96 more hours. And over those next four days and nights, we executed this delightful little exchange. In the mornings, she would take my spare battery packs with her for charging and in the evening, I would give her my sofa. Electricity for company.

At 5 am, the morning of day 7, my eyes opened. Something was amiss. I could once again hear the little hums of the apartment and the big hums of the city. The refrigerator purred from the kitchen. I sat up in bed. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel like smiling. Then I knew what it was. There would no longer be any reason for Mina to come over.

I let her sleep in till 9 am that day. Then I went over to the sofa to wake her. The markets would be opening soon.

At the door, she paused and looked at me. 

“Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ve been afraid of the dark ever since I was a child. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't given me your couch. Probably wouldn't have slept for another 4 nights.”

“It was entirely my pleasure,” I said. It kind of had been. 

She had turned to go but then she stopped. 

“I just wanted to ask you something,” she said.

“Fire away,” I said. I knew what was coming.

“Do you really never go out?” she asked.

I sighed wearily. “It’s a long story,” I said.

“Would you like to tell me sometime?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Sure. Would you like to come over tonight?”