Chapter35 Isolation

 

 

So, I settled in to the apartment, for the first time in my life, having a space that was completely my own.

But if felt like a prison. The only company I had were the roaches and I wanted them dead.

Back in Philadelphia I had purchased battery operated portable TV, which I had hoped to use to relieve the boredom of the bus trip, which turned out to be useless in the constantly shifting frequencies.

Here, it became my only companion, giving me the company of classic old movies and the constant rant of local advertisers such as Ralph Williams, the car czar of Los Angeles, whose face dominated the night time like a vampire.

The TV burned out within two days, isolating me further, and force me to head back downtown to replace it – after several days foraging the local bodega for food (canned tamales) and roach powder in my constant conflict to keep them contained.

After my experience at the hotel, I knew I could not trust the lock on the apartment door to keep out the intrusion of the landlady, who I did not trust and was pretty sure she didn’t trust me (an Anglo in a part of the city that had a 95 percent Chicano population.)

I didn’t know much about the yellow buses, how often they ran, where they went or the concept of exact fare for each zone. So, I took a cab, back to that area near the bus station, recalling again the Army & Navy store, a handful of electronic stores, a hardware store and an assortment of other shops I could peruse by daylight in perfect safety as long as I got back to my place by nightfall.

The hardware store had a lot of locks, but only one that suited my purpose. I didn’t need to change the door lock – which would have pissed off the landlady. Instead, I found a chain lock with a key that would allow me to reach in from the outside to unlock it – nothing that would stop a determined burglar, but might discourage my landlady or someone else, by making them think someone was still inside, and would foil anyone from snooping around among my possessions while I was gone.

Here I also stocked up on supplies against the roaches that included powders, sprays and various traps, none of which would wipe the little bastards out, but might thin their population to a tolerable level, if they didn’t kill me in the process.

A cigarette and cigar store (complete with a wooden indian out front allowed me to stock up on cartons of parliaments and Kool’s, the brands I alternated between since leaving New York and which would keep me from having to make frequent trips to the bodega on the corner near my house. I still had the idea of hunkering down until I felt safe enough to take the trip east to meeting Louise near Denver.

I left the electronic store until last, and luckily, I did.

The TV set replacement was not the problem. I found a small screen TV/radio combo that I could easily carry home. But I also saw a reel-to-reel Sony four track tape recorder the size of a suit case, so professional I could not resist, even though I hadn’t a clue as to what I would do with it. Back home, I had had tiny reel to reel recorders with which my friend Dave and I created our own comedy skits. But I could not due the same without Dave. None the less, I bought the thing, lugging it to a cab along with two of the most depression reel to reel tapes ever made, “The Sound of Silence,” by Simon and Garfunkel and “Magical Mystery Tour” by The Beatles. I did not realize how depressing they were until I got them home, especially the Simon & Garfunkel tape which was full of suicide and someone running from the police.

Not until I got back did I realize my need for more practical things such soap, shampoo, towels, extra underwear, even a blanket to ward off the chill winter brought even to LA. Fortunately, I had absconded with one of the small bars of hotel soap, and once again dried myself in my old clothing until I could get back to buy the necessary items for a real bath later.

Sitting on the couch smoking cigarette after cigarette, parliament, then Kool’s, then Parliaments, I pondered by situation, feeling the most alone I had ever been.

And even though I could hear other people elsewhere in the building, strange ethnic music, the cry of babies, even the jabber of conversation, none of it had anything to do with me, and seemed like another universe. These were not my uncles arguing in those distant rooms, but rather strangers, who did not even know I existed.

Suddenly, I felt intensely homesick, and turned on the TV set to have my new television friends keep me company, Ralph Williams, the man who came on with every commercial break to offer me some great new deal on a car I didn’t need or want, and yet became a face as familiar as any family member, standing out in his car lot, his suit jacket and tie making him look a little like a revivalist preacher, promising me eternal salvation for the price of a car.

Night time became my friend, too, and for the next few days, staying up late with late night TV, venturing out in daylight only for food and other supplies when I was not sleeping. I paced my small space like a prisoner might a jail cell, asking myself why I had gone through the trouble of stealing all that money only to end up here, like this.

I was scared someone might recognize me and kept thinking I had not put enough twists between the bus station and the apartment if the police actually managed to track me to LA after all. At any time, I expected a knock on the door.

I slept badly, if at all, staying up until exhaustion spirited my consciousness away, and still work up with a start when someone slammed a door in the hall.

After a few days, I got into the routine of waking up at dusk, sneaking out to the local bodega for food (mostly snacks) and cigarettes that would last me through the following 24 hours until I could go out again. The Chicano store clerks eyed me oddly at first, but after few days got used to me. One night I thought I saw someone lurking in the shadows as if following me. So, I walked around the block just to make sure they didn’t follow me to where I lived.

When the days began to blur together and the walls of the small apartment seemed to close in on me, I made up my mind to get out into town, even if this risked my getting arrested.

 

  On the lamb menu


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