Chapter 3: The Weird Place in Which Steve Lived (Operation: Keep PT Down)

The weekend past uneventfully and on Monday, I had another interview. Even though I had accepted an offer last Friday, I had only one interview and one offer. My interview skills could use practice. It was in West Covina, near the foothills. The interview went well, I was on time. The interviewer was late. I had no experience as an attorney, nonetheless did my best. Success in my book.

I remembered that Steve’s place was in the foothills and mapped the directions. Not too far. I texted him that I was near.

Ssal: “Hey, I’m in the area. You around?”

Steve: “Yea.”

Ssal: “Mind if I drop by?” Steve:

Steve: “sure.”

Steve: “Not in to [sic] good shape.”

Ssal: “oh. Are you okay?”

Steve: “Yea. My arm is dead.”

Ssal: “What?”

Steve: “Can’t move it.”
Ssal: “What happened?”

Steve: “Dunno.”
Ssal: “Do you have someone to help you?”

Steve: “I’ll be okay.”

Ssal: “I’ll be right over.”

I went up Lake Ave, to Marengo Drive, headed west some way. Eventually, I reached Steve’s corner. I parked on the northwest corner, south side.

Ssal: I’m here.

Steve: Be right out.

Steve walked out of the house one from the corner. The house on the corner had an arching driveway and windows looking out the south side. Steve walked toward my car where I was waiting. He was smiling, his arm swung normally.

“Did you want to come in?” Steve asked. He seemed cheerful. It was hard to tell. The bags under his eyes were so puffy.

“Um…” I had rarely been in someone’s place.

“My son and his friend, Macy are playing video games.”

“Oh, okay.” He had a son. “How old is he?” I asked.

“Alan is eighteen. My younger, Philip, is sixteen.” He’s in Kentucky with his mother.

He had sons plural. “Oh, okay.” I nodded, not knowing what to say. Steve took that for a yes. Here, I’ll take your bag. He took it from my shoulder.

My bag was a huge tote in which I carried well, everything that I could. It was difficult for me to leave the house without, well, my house. We walked around the corner north to the second house on the left, through the driveway, which was paved for an extra car. The new pavement struck out at an angle into the front lawn. I looked up and saw crappy blinds that did not really cover anything.

Maybe that’s why they have Aluminum foil sealing the windows, I thought.

I followed Steve to the left side of the house, down two makeshift steps made of concrete blocks that had grass growing between them and down a very cluttery side path that was precarious, even in flats. I had on heels for my interview.

But why Aluminum foil? I was about to ask Steve when my heel caught in one of the cracks of the side path. “Oh!”

“Oh hey, I’m sorry,” Steve caught me by the arm. “Been meaning to clear this. Almost there.” To the right of the path was a side patio closed in with rickety boards and mesh windows. Through the other side was a rough view of the inside of Steve’s landlord’s house. It appeared as disshelved as the patio and window treatments.

The side path led to the back of the house. We hung a right past something that did not have a name, sort of a wooden frame that held, nothing. The frame consisted of the bare number of wooden lengths to from a rectangle. Some crates on the ground inside the frame, but not a part of the frame, held up a mattress. Vines grew up along the side of the frame.  

The door to Steve’s private entry was open. Immediately to the left of the door was a bunk bed futon. The bottom bunk bed served as a couch and a bed. Currently, it served as a couch. A young white boy, Macy apparently, with Mr. McDreamy hair in hazel blonde sat beside his father, another pale, curly haired Pillsbury doughy type. In the corner sat a woman I apparently did not notice. In front of the flat screen TV in a chair sat Alan, Steve’s son.

I nodded to them as I passed. His son glanced up from playing his video games, a big homage given how intense the game was. Steve led me up to steps to the right which opened into the mini kitchen. To the right, the refrigerator. The left, a small counter, less than 3’x2’ with two barstools which faced a small black board.

Steve indicated one of the barstools. I sat up on one of them.

Did you want something to drink? Or eat? Macy’s dad just bought some crab. It’s real good.

“Oh, that’s okay, not hungry. I’ll have some tea, though.”

Steve nodded and got a mug from a cupboard, filled it with filtered water from the refrigerator, and heated it in the microwave for two minutes. The microwave hung above the stove.

“I can do it. How’s your arm? What happened to it?”

“Oh, I crashed my bike.”

“You what?” I was stunned. Mostly because Steve was standing in front of me apparently unharmed. “Wh-what are you doing? Sit down?” I jumped up and offered Steve a seat.

“Oh, ha ha, it’s nothing really. I’m okay. Except my arm went dead when I woke this morning.”

“Sit.” I led Steve to a barstool, then sat down on the other. “I can make my own tea. Did you want something?”

“Oh, no, just finishing my beer.”  There were beer bottles stacked on the kitchen counter.

“Did you drink all of those?” my left eyebrow raised in a tone of disapproval.

“Oh no, I had help.” Steve laughed, then stopped. “Macy’s dad, I mean.”

The microwave beeped. Steve began to get up. I put an arm on him to stay. I jumped off the stool and walked the one step it took to get to the microwave, reaching…way up high to open the door. I am 5’9” in heels and could not see the inside of the microwave. I eyeballed it.

“That’s a high microwave you have here,” I mentioned to Steve. He laughed.

“Yeah, even I can’t see inside.” Steve was a few inches taller than me.

“That’s odd, was it built for a basketball player?” I asked, not really thinking that it was.

“No, no. This place is new. My landlord just finished building it when I moved in.”

I walked over to the cupboard to look for the sugar.

“Oh, yeah, corner one over there.” The cupboards, 1-2 steps away, were built for a freakishly tall person. Neither I nor Steve could see the bottom of the lowest shelf on any of the cupboards.

“So what happened to you arm. You mentioned a bike accident?”

“Yea, I was riding on the 134 going west and this guy cuts into my lane, and I had the weirdest feeling he was gonna do that so I was already slowing down when I hit him and flew over his car and hackey sacked into a truck that was carrying tools and shit in the back of the bed.”

“Oh my god, are you okay? You didn’t break anything?”

“No, no, apparently not. The paramedics brought me to the ER, gave me an MRI scan and everything. I checked out clean. They let me go.”

“Was this the night we met?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Steve’s face had that fuzzy look of a person in a dream, or one that had been recently in an accident. I shook my head. How did he survive that and not break anything. How did he not survive that period?

“Was this during rush hour?” I asked.

“Yeah, I was going only 70-75 or so.”
“During rush hour traffic?” I remembered how Steve had accelerated at such an unearthly rate of speed. I did not realize that I was still stirring the sugar in my cup absentmindedly. This was a lot to absorb. “Can you do anything with your arm?” I asked with more concern than I realized. Steve lifted his right arm. He made a grunt as if to move his fingers but they were immobile.

“I might as well die if I lose this. A designer’s drawing hand is his life source.” I could see the worry behind Steve’s smile. Such a sad feeling behind that smile.

“Well, why don’t I help.” I looked around and jumped to do the dishes.

“Oh, no, no, no, I’ll take care of them.” There were only a few dishes in the sink. I started to wash.

“So what are you teaching this semester?” I asked.

“Transportation concepts. I can do that you know.”

“I’m almost done. How do you like it?”

“I love teaching. And I listened as Steve talked about how much he loved teaching. The faucet was installed backwards. Hot was on the right, cold was on the left. I burnt myself the first few times I turned on the water.

When I washed the last glass, I walked the two steps it took to sit down.

It didn’t make sense, I thought, everything is built for a giant, yet a midget could not walk three steps before bumping into anything. A 6’6” person would literally have to turn around if he wanted to go from the stove to the sink or the little counter.

Because I was thinking so hard I tripped getting on the stool. My foot caught on something and I caught the counter same time as Steve caught me. “Oh!” I said.

“Whoah, there! Don’t need both of us crashing.” We laughed. I looked down to see what tripped me. there was a clump of wiring and cords bound together running into a hole in the floor. I leaned over. Red, white, blue, yellow cords like those for a VCR only there were so many they made a clump almost two inches in diameter. What were they for? The cords ran out of the kitchen into the living room. I wanted to follow the trail but thought it would be rude.

“What are all these wires and cords for?” I asked. Steve shrugged.

“I don’t know.” He did not seem curious.

“Is there a basement down there?” trying to peer between the clump of cords and the hold in the ground.

“I don’t know.”

“What does your landlord do down there with all these electronics wires?”

“I don’t know.” Steve was an Enquiring Mind.

“Basements are for the Midwest, where it snows. We don’t have basements here in Southern California. Does your landlord have a workroom or studio down there?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve never heard anyone down there.” I noticed that the hardwood floor was high quality, the type that had texture and soft on the feet. The kitchen had beautiful fixtures, colors, and overall high-end quality. The crampedness of the place and the circumstances of being an add-on to the main residence, suggested otherwise. It certainly was cozy.

And perhaps because I had been looking down, I now looked up. The lighting was sunk into the ceiling, the new fangled kind. Expensive. Things could be lodged in the recesses of the ceiling lights.

Steve continued talking about how he loved teaching. I asked him about his designed and listened. The dark granite counter tops had deep sparkles in them. all very nice.

“Do you mind if I ask how much your rent is?” I asked?

“I negotiated paying a year up front. Got it all for $8,000 a year. My lease ends in December.”

“Including utilities?”

“Yes, water and everything.”

“Wow.” A one-bedroom, with a private kitchen and bath, tiny size regardless. I had passed by the washer and dryer, new Kenmores. This place was a steel in this part of town. Upscale, quiet, near the mountains.

Steve and I talked into the night. For some reason, the first night we met, he told me all about his family history, mostly about his son’s mom and his other ex. He had been married twice. Two children to his first wife. Where was his second wife, I asked him. Steve shrugged. She disappeared.

It was late when I told Steve I should go. Before that, I used the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen, like an airplane bathroom with kwalitee fixtures. It closed with a sliding door no lock.

“Um, can you hold watch while I--”

“Oh, yea, yeah, no one will come in,” Steve assured me.

“Nonetheless,” I answered. When I was done doing my thing, I tried to slide the door open. No knob. “Unh,” I stepped out, “ready.” Steve led me down the two steps into the living room, hung a left, I waved to his son Alan, his friend Macy and Macy’s father who had left, and a woman who looked Filipino sitting in the corner of the futon couch.

That was rough. Outside, Steve and I kept talking until we reached my car. I dawdled to give Steve a chance to invite me back. My feet hurt waiting.

“So did you want me to come back?”

“Sure, sure, anytime, anytime. I’d love it if you came back.” Steve seemed relieved.

“Okay, I will. Take it easy on your arm. I’ll help you out tomorrow.”

“Right, right, right, see you tomorrow.” At least Steve’s smile seemed genuinely happy when I left.