Taste Better than I Look

“Hello … friend. Could you open this door for me?”

I was waddling out the back entrance carrying two full jerries of gas, and these arms ain’t what they used to be, so I stop and rests the cans down there in the path. My glasses were wet—I had all the wind and the rain from the hurricane smacking me in the face. Hell, my eyes ain’t what they used to be either—like my ol’ Maeve used to joke back when I had some weight on: I tasted better than I looked.

That was the first I saw of the fella standing there. He was dressed sorta nice, maybe like he worked in an office someplace, or bagged groceries. He was trying to get into the building through the back without buzzing, but, well, he woulda already had to hop the eight-foot fence out by the courts to get where he was, and that gate he was asking about, it’s that one out back, only about chest high. You can see it down there if you looks out the window. Not exactly the Great Wall. I saw the Wilson boy in 213 jump over it once to impress some girl. And like I said, it only leads out to the tennis court and shuffleboard squares.

“Hol’ on,” I told him. I felt bad about it. I don’t like feeling like I’m being rude, but five seconds out in the rain and I was already growing mushrooms. I’d only just snuck past the storm to get back to town and over to the Esso before it closed up. The wind was already huffing by the time I pulled up and this was just the start of it. You know how it is ‘round here, the power could go down at any time.

I dropped the cans out in the shed by the jenny and fought my way back against the wind. Tried to keep my big mouth shut so I wouldn’t drown. And then I still had four more jerries left to go in the lobby.

The fella was still there.

“Could you open this door for me?” he asks again. Calm. Not bothered one bit by the wind and the rain. Sounds like he’s at McDonald’s ordering fries. And here was me practically bowing in half.

You know how it is when you’re working like a dog and someone’s just standing there watching … I don’t have time for it. “It’s not latched,” I tells him with a wave, moving on by. The top of the hook that keeps that gate closed rusted off long ago. “You just gotta push.”

I went on back inside to get the next cans. Behind me, he asks it again: “Hello, could you open this door for me…”

I admit, by the third time now I was rolling my eyes. Why the hell was he standing out in the storm anyway? Don’t he have no sense? Sometimes people just needs to learn to help themselves, ya know. The lobby smelled like if I lit a match the whole place would go up. As sure as sugar I’d be getting calls about that for a week. That was my fault of course. But couldn’t he see I was busy?

“Open this door for me, Stan.”

That’s what he said when I came back with the next two cans. That’s when I stopped dead.

I put the cans down in the path and stood there looking at him. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I was wondering how he knew my name. Nope. I’m the super here in this building. We got forty-two units. Lots of them families. Everybody here knows Stan.

He was smiling at me like he was trying to be friendly. But not showing teeth. Not with his eyes either. Something about it didn’t look right. It was more like the skin was pulling back from his mouth.

The rain made everything gray, and my glasses … like Maeve said, I tasted better than I looked. I stepped closer to get a good peep at him.

The fella put his two hands up to grip the gate’s rungs. He had these skinny fingers…

I looks down at the latch, and there was nothing keeping it closed. The post was just sitting there in the groove.

“Could you open this door for me, Stan. Please.”

“It’s open,” I told him. Like a dummy.

You know how when you’re driving tired, then you blinks and you know you’re snapping out of something and you don’t know how long you was out … only that you got this dread … you missed something bad happening by the skin of your teeth…?

It didn’t matter he knew my name. There was something about how he said my name that made me stop.

“Could you open this door for me, Stan?”

How even with the wind, the rain, the tone of his voice never changed, like he had a pull-cord out his back and down inside him was a recording.

He just looked like some fella out of an office, white collar poking up out of a beige cardigan. Ten-dollar haircut, lines too straight like you see on poor kids sometimes because their mom did it at home. Might be the fella standing behind you in line getting groceries.

But I suppose a spider looks like just another bug to a fly too.

I was nearly face and face with him now, just the unlocked gate between us. Deep down … I was feeling watery. I told myself that was just ‘cause I wasn’t used to carrying heavy jerries no more. But I didn’t believe that, I can admit that now. I deal with tenants—people—every day. So I know what one looks like. Better than most.

His skin was pale and his eyes looked brown. The storm was blowing all around us and he looked like he’d just stepped out of a catalogue. I mean … it’s hard to say a thing in words when you never seen nothing like it before … all you have is likes and similars. Well, it was like the picture from the catalogue was what I was supposed to see. No … that doesn’t do it. It’s hard to explain. I been thinking on it, and it … it was all just a feeling that everything was wrong. Like … I was one of them antelopes you see on nature shows, except this episode you’re following around the tiger, rooting for him, and the antelope stands stock still, staring into the bushes, staring…

If I focused … if I stared at him hard enough … maybe I could figure out…

All of a sudden my skin felt too small. I snaps out of it.

“No,” I says to him. “No, I don’t think so.”

Listen … you could pull my fingers off and not a chance in hell was I gonna open that gate.

I left the gas cans there in the middle of the path and I trotted on back into the building the best I could, the whole time half looking over my shoulder like when I would run up the dark basement stairs at my ol’ nan’s, thinking something was gonna grab me.

I got back here to my place, shut the door, locked it good. My window was crawling with rain, and I couldn’t see nothing down below. It was just the webs of rain lashing about.

I poured myself a drink and stood there in the kitchen. I remember the cap from my old bottle of Morgan was sticky with kitchen grease over the cap. Stuck to my palm. My Maeve hadn’t liked me drinking. She used to say … well, I figured she’d understand.

I dried my hair, washed my face. My hands, they was shaking like this, and took a minute or two to stop. I kept telling myself I was being foolish, wasteful. I even had a little laugh. I started wondering about them gas cans down there in the walkway, if they’d be there tomorrow. Gas ain’t cheap.

I stripped down and changed out of my wet clothes, right down to the skin and back again.

That’s when the lights went. Pop. Storm … these old lines in this part of town … it was only a matter of time.

I was gonna go down and get them gas cans. I put on my slippers now because my boots had holes in them. I was almost out the door. Even had my hand on the doorknob. Then I heard the heavy first-floor door slam close in the stairwell.

I don’t know how to ‘splain this next part. I gotta go back to my likes and similars…

You know how it is when there’s something you’re supposed to do … but you can’t remember what? I had this feeling there was someone I was supposed to be helping.

Someone opened the gate for him. That was my first thought. Then: Who? Opened the gate for who?

It came back to me like I was remembering a dream. The fella down by the gate.

I knew then I didn’t want to go down to get the jerries anymore.

That’s a stupid thought, I told myself, the way you do. I’m a grown man. Now that I was up here, out of the storm, in my own place … it felt like I was being stupid. Meanwhile the jerries were down there in the lobby and for sure the whole building would smell like gas…

Still, I … I didn’t turn the knob. I was still feeling watery deep down. Something was missing, something I heard so often I never thought about it no more.

The stairs, see, they’re all metal and the walls are smooth concrete. Everyone echoes. It gets to be so I can tell a tenant by the time of day and their thuds coming up the stairs. Old Mrs. Sellers shuffles like Frankenstein. The young fellers from 304 jumps up two at a time like they’re being chased. For the most part, living here by the stairwell, I’ve had to learn not to hear everyone except for when I want to.

Well, I listened hard. Rain … rattling the windows here. My own breath was as loud as the storm. I was hearing a clink-clink-clink noise and I realized it was my wedding ring clinking on the knob because I was shaking like a kitten.

A few seconds later, I heard the door to my floor clunk open. I let go of the knob and stepped all the way back to the rug here. What’s that … three, four … five steps?

There was a knock on my door. I didn’t even think. Before I knew it I was halfway there, about to open it. It was probably someone come with a problem. Power’s out and Mr. Dube got a ventilator. I should help him—that’s what I was thinking. That’s my job around here, fixing problems. And there’s always problems.

Only … I kept thinking about that latch downstairs on the gate, how it was only sitting on top of the groove. And those thin fingers gripping the rungs…

I felt stupid, but I reached the rest of the way over to the door and I clicked the chain across too. I haven’t drawn that chain across in twenty years, back when Maeve used to insist. Always scared of somebody or other in the building, but I never was.

The knock came again.

“What do you want?” I said.

Maeve … she always used to tell me … like I said, I taste better than I look. Well, for the first time maybe in my life, I listened to what she was telling me, and I looked first. I leaned in and I peered out the peephole.

And I jumped right back. All I saw was a red eye looking in at me.

The same voice, calm, steady, it said, “Hey, Stan. Could you open this door for me…”

…like he was ordering fries at McDonald’s…