Three weeks ago, I rented a short-term apartment in St. Pete to stay in until I resume travel in May (be sure to follow my travel blog, The Highway and I, if you don’t already). The day I moved in, the landlord, Charles, told me about the man in the apartment next to me, with whom I would share a hallway. He described my neighbor as Ron, an old guy who I would probably never see much because he rarely left his home. “He’s harmless,” my landlord said. “I think I’m his only friend. I come and have a beer with him once a week to say hi.” He told me Ron had a severely hunched back and liked to make sure the hall entrance door was kept locked, for safety. The neighborhood I’m currently in is pleasant and eclectic now, but years ago, this was a bad part of town. Ron had been here through the bad years, as Charles explained, “Ron came with the building.”
That evening, I took Lola for a walk, and when I returned, I could see the figure of a man standing on one of the bottom steps leading up to the second floor of the building, where my apartment is. It was dark and the light for the motion detector was out. As I came up behind the man, I could see four bags of groceries sitting on the step by his feet; he’d only made it up three of the 20 or so steps to he top. “Need a hand?” I asked.
The man turned and looked at me, but it was so dark I could hardly make out any of his features. He was older and I could see his back and neck were curved forward in a terrible hunch. This must have been Ron.
“Yes, yes,” he said, his voice was friendly and slight. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” I replied as I picked up two of the bags. I was hesitant to grab all four, not wanting to emasculate him, but as he struggled to pick up the other two, I offered, “I can get those, too.”
“Can you?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
I got to the top of the stairs and waited for Ron. When he came into the hallway and I could see him in the light… his appearance was shocking. I’d guess he was in his late 80s, a small, lean frame. I’d never seen anyone with such a severe hunchback in my life. His eyes were sunken in, his face was gaunt. He looked…ghastly. I immediately felt sad for him as I realized this was probably why he never left his apartment, as Charles had told me. It was also probably why he waited for nightfall to go out for groceries. I set the groceries outside the door to his apartment and he thanked me for helping him. He told me his name was Ron. I introduced myself and Lola and he smiled. “Have a nice evening,” I said.
“You too.”
That’s how I met Ron.
The next day, I told Charles about the broken motion detector and he came over to fix it that afternoon. I went about my day, and as I rounded the corner of the building after my nightly walk with Lola, there stood Ron. On the same step I’d found him on the previous evening. With four bags of groceries by his feet. Hey Ron!” I said. “Let me get those for you.” I picked up the bags and this time, the outdoor light was working so I could see him.
“Oh, thank you, Jessica,” he said. With that, I carried the bags to the top, waited for him at the hall, then came in and set the bags by his door. As Ron fumbled for his keys, I made small talk and asked him how his day was. My heart ached for him, to imagine him growing old alone, a total shut-in. Everyone has a story. Soon, I would learn his.
Ron turned to me before he went inside his apartment. “If there’s anything I can ever do to help you, please let me know,” he offered.
I smiled and thanked him.
Those were the only two times I saw Ron. For the next two weeks, I barely heard a peep from him. In the hallway, I could sometimes make out the sound of a radio coming from his apartment.
I had a strange feeling as I left the building on Easter Sunday to drive to my mom’s. I can’t really describe it, maybe it was a sense of sadness. I wondered what Ron was doing for Easter, where his family was. Every time I walked through the hall, I thought of Ron, alone in his apartment, hidden away from a world that couldn’t handle his appearance.
The following Tuesday, a construction worker from the county knocked on my door to remind me to move my vehicle. The parking here is on the road, and the road was being repaved so everyone’s vehicle needed to be moved. The man asked if I knew who owned the white truck parked out front – I knew it was Ron’s truck. The man knocked on Ron’s door to ask him to move it but he wouldn’t come to the door.
I texted Charles (who lives just a couple blocks away) and asked if he could call Ron, explaining that his vehicle needed to be moved and he wasn’t answering the door. A few minutes later, I could hear Charles knocking on Ron’s door. “Hey Ron,” he said through the door. “We just need you to move your truck. They’re paving the road today.” Still, there was no answer.
Eventually, the landlord let himself in and found Ron. He had passed away, quietly and alone, without anyone in the world knowing.
The police were here for several hours on Tuesday doing whatever police have to do when someone dies. The whole thing hurt my heart because I just hated the idea of Ron laying there alone, dying, without anyone to hold his hand.
I would have held his hand.
Later that afternoon, the landlord was there to begin the process of cleaning up the apartment. He was standing at the door to Ron’s apartment and for the first time I could see inside. “It’s a mess,” he explained.
“How are you doing,” I asked, remembering that Charles had told me he was Ron’s only friend. His voice quivered and he looked away. “I’m sad,” he said. “He was my buddy.” Charles then told me how terrible he felt that he didn’t come to visit Ron on Easter. “I’ve been so busy getting ready to sell one of my properties – the last time I was here was when I fixed the light. I always came every week to visit Ron, and I hadn’t been here in over two weeks.”
“You couldn’t have known, Charles” I offered. “Ron was blessed to have your friendship.” His eyes welled up and I stood there, helplessly, wanting to say the right thing but not knowing how. Death does that. It has a way of making anyone lost for words.
Charles explained that Ron had no known next of kin. He was once married and he had children, but had been estranged from them for many decades. He’d gotten wrapped up in drugs when he was younger and as he grew old, he became a hermit. He had a cell phone and Charles saw that he had used it the night before, so he had not been there long. Had the paving crew not needed Ron to move his truck, though, it would have probably been a while before his death was noticed.
I spent much of Tuesday reflecting life and death. Along with stealing our words, death has a way of reminding us each of our own mortality. I’d only met Ron those two times but feel blessed that I was able to offer him some kindness, to help him with his groceries. There are many ways to show love, to those we know and those we don’t. Charles’s unlikely friendship with Ron is a really beautiful example of the kind of unlikely love we should all seek opportunities to share.
