Tuesday, December 13, 2016


Amanda woke up to people talking outside in the hallway. The apartment walls were thin, and you can hear almost everything. Well, almost. Amanda got up and put her ear to her door to see if she can hear the entire conversation.

“I don't understand how this happened,” Amanda heard someone say. She recognized the voice as the burly woman, “He didn't seem depressed.”

“Maybe he realized that he was worthless,” another said. That sounded like Trisha, without the slurred speech.

“Whatever happened to 'don't speak ill of the dead'” a gruff voice responded. That was the burly husband.

At this point, Amanda opened her door a crack. She was going to find out what was going on, but she already seemed to know.
She could see Trisha's back and someone's arm.

"I never heard of that tradition," Trisha mumbled. Just then a hand grabbed Trisha's arm as if to shush her.

“Well,” another voice said, “If you think of anything else, let me know," an unfamiliar voice said. Amanda opened the door in time to see the police officer leave.

Mr. Carter, the owner of the complex, was also there. He hadn't said anything throughout the conversation, but Amanda wasn't surprised that he was there. He was always there when something significant is going on.

“Looks like we won't need to worry about Joey anymore,” Trisha said. The Burly woman, who was standing next to Trisha, grabbed her arm again to shush her.

“It appears that Joey had shot himself two days ago,” Mr. Carter said.

Amanda didn't know how to take the news. She remembered wishing that he would do this very thing a few days ago.

“What do you mean 'appears'?” Amanda asked.

“Well,” Mr. Carter said, leaning on his cane. “The officer certainly asked a lot more questions than necessary for suicide.” He stopped for a moment then started to walk towards the door. In doing so, he walked by the burly husband. Amanda noticed that they were practically the same size. If Mr. Carter didn't have a cane and hunched over a little, he may be the same size.

“Types like Joey don't just kill themselves, at least not intentionally.” Mr. Carter continued, stopping after a few steps and turned around.

Amanda noticed that he used 'types' as if Joey was an entirely different species. “They think too highly of themselves. If they die, it's usually because of a medical condition they don't believe that they have. And they don't take care of themselves, but they think they do and ignore all warnings of ill health.”

Trisha rolled her eyes.

“I have someplace to be,” Trisha said, “Good luck finding a replacement, Mr. Carter. Good help is hard to find these days, I'm sure.” She then walked past Mr. Carter towards the elevator, picking up a rather large, flat bag.

Mr. Carter nodded and smiled. However, he was looking at Amanda.

Amanda noticed and cleared her throat.

“What time is your art show, Trisha,” Amanda called out after her.

Trisha turned around as the elevator door opened. “It's all day, come anytime.” With that, she stepped backward into the elevator and the doors closed.

Amanda saw how agile she was when she wasn't drunk.
Mr. Carter was still looking at Amanda.

“Amanda,” he said finally, “How would you like a job?”
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