Once upon a time, back in the day when I was a young adult, when I was around the age of 25 I did something, something that I was proud of. Something that I thought I would never have done. I’m afraid of confrontation as is so I was rather proud that I was able to muster enough courage to do so.
The idea of this story came to me like a random pink elephant trying to fly in the ocean. My brain runs like a confusing web of intertwining train tracks with a drunken conductor flipping switches at random. Sometimes that train will even derail causing me to forget what I was doing until someone or something reminds me what I was doing prior to that shift in thought.
The year was 2008, three years prior to this my child’s mom broke up with me. We were not meant for each other, we were in a very toxic relationship. We fought every night, over the dumbest shit. For example she would come home from work at nine o’clock and yell at me because I didn’t pick up my son’s toys that where littering the family room. Even though I picked up all of his toys two hours prior. When is the last time you picked up toys and expected your two year old son or daughter not to string all of their toys all over again in the course of the next twenty minutes? The relationship came to a slow but abrupt halt after three years.
It was my fault too, I can’t sit here and act like it was all of her fault. When my son was two and a half we split. That reminds me of another idea that I can try to put into story form, if I remember.
Back to my parents house I went again. Before 2008 I moved in with a friend of mine just to end up getting kicked out of his apartment. Back to my parents I went, again. Between the ages of 19 and 26 I have been in and out my parents house more than I would have liked. One night in some shape or form I met this girl.
I knew Crystal for awhile at this point, I can’t remember how me met, but I’m sure it was because she was hot. She has brown hair with brown eyes, she weighed 130 pounds and stood at five foot one. The fact that she was short was a turn on for me, I don’t really know why, but I dig short women. I loved watching her walk too, being in a wheelchair puts you at the proper height. Her ass looked as if she was wearing jeans that were painted on two bubbles that bounced up and down every time she took another step forward.
We never dated one another but I did end up living with her and her boyfriend. Her boyfriend just happened to be a friend of mine they I knew before they even dated. One morning I woke up in a hurry at six o’clock thinking someone in my apartment was being stabbed to death, I was still in a mild dream state. She was being stabbed to death, and it sounded as if she enjoyed every moment of it; it was then that I found out how load she was during sex.
One day when neither of them were home I found naked pictures of her that she took when she was in the shower. The picture-or maybe even pictures-were stored on the computer that we shared. This picture that I saw didn’t show her bottom half, it wasn’t like I was trying to find them anyways, after I saw the picture of her bare, perky, and voluptuous double D’s I didn’t look to find any more; she was fucking hot as hell, and I would have liked to see more; however I felt bad, like I was invading her privacy or something.
Before Crystal moved into my apartment I lived with another girl, a girl named Heather. We never dated either, never even had sex. The more I learned about her the more of a turn off the idea of sex even was. After breaking up with one Heather and living with another Heather I lived with my mom and dad.
Crystal called me one day, around two o’clock in the afternoon, I thought I still had a chance to get into her pants. Crystal worked at the local motel, downtown by the fairgrounds; she was one of the maids at the shitty motel next to the fairgrounds, right next to the freeway that I took every morning on my way to work. I reached in my pocket to grab my cell phone and flipped it open.
“Hey Dan, what are you up to?”
“Just playing video games.”
“Do you want to come have lunch with me and my friend?” She had a coworker by the name of Heather.
“Yea sure, I didn’t eat yet.” Back in the day I looked like a crack head. I never did crack or any drug besides marijuana, I was 115 pounds and stood at five feet ten. I didn’t have much of an appetite back than, mainly because my mom who is not fat but thinks she is fat; makes the driest, most tasteless food ever. To top it off I was still walking, but only in my house, that used enough energy that my metabolism rate was through the roof; it seemed like I couldn’t put any weight on even if I tried. Sitting in the diner downtown across from the motel was the first time I met Heather.
The whole lunch was spent trying to convince me that I needed to get back out of my parents house, she was also dropping pretty bold hints that she needed to move out the entire time. Now that I look back on it I don’t know where she lived in the first place. I bought into it hook, line, and sinker.
I was in my mid twenties and felt a deep need to move out again, I was also tired of being the disabled son of a disabled mother who was always yelling at me because she seemed to be under a false impression that if I do anything on my own I would die from some type of extremely rare but tragic accident. A few weeks after our lunch I went to the bank.
After taking out a loan that I’m still paying for seven years later, Heather was sitting in the passenger seat of my car as we drove around town looking for an apartment complex that would accept us. During this car ride I came to find out that she had a felony, which lead me to ask, “What for?”
I don’t know which of the two were reveled first but over the course of living with her I came to find out that she was busted for one-or both-of the following: she was addicted to crack cocaine and in order to support her habit she became an escort, or a prostitute as some would say. Because of this she spent some time in prison that was in the same state, as far as I know. This made finding an apartment extremely difficult.
We finally found one that was sketchy as hell. Not because it was in the ghetto, but because it was owned by someone who lived in another state and was poorly managed. The manager was my soon to be next door neighbor.
She was the nicest lady, she must have been around the age of 50 and was very relaxed on what rules had to be followed. Her daughter was never home and may have spent some time in jail too, she was one of those types that liked to delve into the world of drugs, methamphetamine to be more specific. Which I didn’t know until I met her son Ryan, who was also my next door neighbor.
Ryan lived with his grandmother, most likely because his mom was too busy getting her next fix while remaining highly irresponsible. Ryan was quick to become my next friend, he would often come over to hang out when he wasn’t cleaning up one of the empty units after it had been vacated by the previous resident. Years later I found out something that actually made me feel bad for the kid.
After moving out and being gone for a year or so I went to go visit my friend Marcus. Ryan no longer lived there, but an old friend of his told me that Ryan had a kid now and was going down the same path that his mom did, but instead of meth it was heroin; I felt bad for him, I was sad that happened to him. He was doing so well for the year or two that I knew him. Marcus now lived in the apartment that I used to. I moved out because he had a new girlfriend, which is an interesting story by itself.
The apartment complex that Heather and I lived in was pretty old, it has had some shotty repairs to it over the years. As some of you might know I currently have a job as a CAD technician, or a glorified entry level engineer. My job focuses on the mechanical aspect of engineering, but the thing that lead me to where I am now was architectural design; because of this I knew the basics of architectural codes, such as interior and exterior door size, interior and exterior wall thickness, and some other stuff here and there.
Due to the size of our kitchen being almost the same size as the family room and an outdoor patio that looked as if it were made out of stone marble running about ten feet out of the back door and spanning thirty feet wide, I was able to make the assumption that our apartment complex-that only consisted of 16 units-must have been built in the late 50’s to early 60’s.
When we moved into our new apartment I was the only one who had a regular source of income. Heather did not have a job and from day one I have been telling her that she needed to find one.
She surprised the hell out of me one day, about a week or two after moving in she found a job. Because of this I figured the next logical thing to do was to get her a cell phone, so I could keep in contact with the person that was living in the same house as me.
I don’t necessarily regret it, but it was not the smartest decision that I have ever made.
A few weeks after having a job working at the local gas station she came home early just to give me the bed news, she told me that she was fired for selling alcohol to a minor. Now that I think about it I’m not sure that she had a job in the first place.
May I mention that her boyfriend who was twenty years older than her lived in the apartment above us, he didn’t move in until we have lived there for awhile. I don’t care how old he is, if she is over 18, and they are both happy, more power to them. He had a excellent job that paid him a good amount of money, he more or less ended up paying me for her part of the rent, utilities, and cell phone. She had a free ride, all she was doing was staying home living for free with a guy that couldn’t afford to live by himself even if I tried to. This just drove us apart.
Not having a job just drove a deeper wedge in between the both of us. I’d get home from work around five o’clock in the evening just to find her laying on the couch watching TV, doing nothing with her day. All I did when I came home was to get on the computer or play video games, we didn’t even talk. A few weeks later she came up to me while I was doing something on the computer to give me some good news, she told me that she was moving out; which was good, I didn’t have to be the asshole in this situation. Even though she moved out doesn’t mean she left, she just became my next door neighbor by moving upstairs.
While all of this was going on in my life on one side of town, Crystal had her own misfortunes on the other side of town.
At this time Crystal was dating one of my friends named Marcus, as far as I remember Marcus was even living there with her and her two year old son. Events that I cannot remember caused her to lose her apartment. I just so happened to be looking for a new roommate at that same time.
Over the course of a few months a single guy living with one girl has been transformed into a single guy who was now living with his friend, his other friend who just happened to be dating his other friend, and her kid. Another minor problem stacked onto other problems arose.
She didn’t have a phone either, but I did; it just happened to be in the apartment above me. I had one of those phones where you could remove the SIM card from one phone and put it into another if you decided to do so. I also had another friend by the name of Dmitry who had a phone that he was not using anymore. Dmitry gave me old phone for free, a fat but small flip phone that was colored tan and brown.
At this point I had a roommate that didn’t have a phone, a phone that was in the possession of someone else, and another phone that didn’t have the ability to make any sort of calls. I only had one thing left to do.
I walked out of my front door and turned to my right. After walking to the end of that units opening I turned around just to face a set of stairs that lead to the second floor. Up the stairs I walked, this whole time having conflicting thoughts that were having a fight inside my head.
Part of me was saying, “Fuck this man, this is your phone, it has your name on it,” the other part of me was arguing with itself, “What if she tries to yell at you and tell you it is her phone, don’t do this, you don’t want to confront her.”
I’ve heard that I have two levels of knocking on a door, so quiet that I stand in front of their door for half an hour and look stupid while they sit on their couch watching TV or so loud that people run and hide because they think there is a police officer at their door. I ended up scaring the shit out her after knocking on her door. She slowly opened the door.
“Give me my phone.”
“It’s not your phone.”
“Yes it is.”
“So why does it say my name on the bill? That bill even says I own both lines.”
“I pay for it though.”
“No you don’t, Troy does; and it’s not his phone either”
“I have important stuff on this phone, I took some pictures I want to keep or have people’s phone numbers.”
“Are they stored on the phone?”
“Okay fine keep the fucking phone, just give me the SIM card.”
All I needed was the SIM card, the SIM card was what connected my phone number to the phone that was being used. Her giving me the SIM card did not give me my physical phone, but I really wasn’t worried the phone; I was worried about my phone number being out there in someone else’s hands who could charge me a shit ton of money-that I had to pay for-or screw up my credit.
I walked down those stairs feeling like I was floating on air. I couldn’t believe how easy that was.
I walked into my apartment and saw Crystal standing in the kitchen while Marcus was sitting on the couch playing a video game and her kid was hanging out in his play pin. I looked at her with a big smile on my face and said, “Open your hand.”
I put a small chip in her hand and said, “All you got to do is put that in Dmitry’s old phone, and there you go, you’ll have a phone.”
I did have more trust in Crystal than I did Heather anyways.
I can’t believe I did that. To this day that story still makes me proud of myself every time I think about it.
A few months after that Heather came to my front door claiming that I owed her four hundred dollars when in fact she was the one that owed my four hundred dollars. After she left I went one door over and explained to my manager everything that has happened-the manager didn’t like her anyways, and I was her grandsons best friend-she was quick to side with me.
A few days after that Heather came back over trying to get free money so I just said, “Let’s go talk to the manager about that, if I owe you rent, I want to hear it from her.” I think you can figure out what happened there, Heather was not too happy.
If you care to read another story about Heather and what happened to her after I moved out feel free to read ‘The Conversation.’