The Sailor Next Day... A Story

From Aug 08


When I was in my early 20s and living with a boyfriend in New York, next door lived a sailor, probably 18 or 19. We shared a balcony. No, it was more like a ledge with a railing. The very door leading to it was half the size in width. You had turn sideways to get out there.

We had nothing in common so a friendship never evolved beyond hello's in the hall or "excuse me, didn't realize you were on the balcony".

Until the one very early morning, I opened up the little door and before I could get my "excuse me" out, I realized something was very wrong. He sat on the ground with a head hung low. The pain radiated off that boy nearly knocked me on butt.

Then I saw what he was holding in his hand was a razor. His other wrist was bleeding from a scratch. Apparently, he had just cut himself but not deep enough to sever the necessary artery for death. Beer cans were scattered about his feet. Was he just being drunk and stupid? I knew this was one of those Big Life Moments that you either get right or fuck it up.

I calmly ask, "What are you doing with that razor, ---?"

He looks at me with the deadest eyes. I don't remember the exact words but those eyes I'll never forget. He confirmed what I feared.

Never had I had any kind of experience with this kind of thing. If I ran and got help and he slashed his wrist, would it be too late before it arrived? Didn't in movies the deal was never to leave the person alone?

"Are you sure?" He nodded. My mind raced with what I should say. What came out:

"Did you leave a note saying goodbye to your family." He shook his head.

"Oh, ---, you must leave a note. Come inside, I have some stationery."

He stumbled in behind me, thankfully putting the razor on the coffee table. I sat him at the kitchen table and gave him paper and pencil. I told him I was going to make some eggs and toast now.

He was in middle of writing when my boyfriend walked into the kitchen. He and I were very close so with just a look on my face and a gesture, he didn't start asking what the hell was going on.

The sailor finished his note and sealed in envelope. I asked if there was anyone at work I needed to contact for him? He wrote down a name and number.

All three of us ate in silence. Frankly, I was still so unsure what the heck I should say or do. When we were done, he got up and slowly headed toward the living room and I whispered to my boyfriend quickly what was going on.

My boyfriend took the paper with the name and number of his boss and went into the bedroom, where we had a phone.

I quickly followed the sailor out again. He was nearly to the table with razor when I called out his name. I held out my arms and said, you didn't say goodbye to me. "Please, come here ---."

He fell into my arms. He started to pull away and hugged tighter, "Not yet." Then he began to shake. And at last, tears started to fall from those dead eyes. I'd never held a sobbing person in my life.

Then I took his face in both of my hands and turned it so our eyes could meet. "This is the part where I beg you not to leave me. Please, please ---. Don't leave me. Stay with me. I couldn't bear it if you did."

He sighed and asked me the question I had asked on the balcony. "Are you sure?"

I nodded and moved us toward the couch. I sat next to him with my head on his shoulder while he just cried. I held both his hands in mine. No idea how long we sat like that.

My boyfriend had walked into room and wordlessly picked up the razor and sat on a nearby chair. Not too much later, there was a knock at the door. It was some people in uniforms I didn't recognize.

One man began talking to the sailor in such soothing tones, telling him he needs to come with him so they can make sure he is okay. I hadn't realized that my head was still on his shoulder until he stood up to go.

A few days later, there was a knock again at my door and another sailor stood there holding this plant. He told me that my neighbor was being hospitalized and he specifically asked that I take care of this little plant for him until he gets home. It was maybe 8 inches tall. It was in a container that made it obvious it was some sort of gift... I'm betting a woman.

That sailor never came back. And I never stopped taking care of that plant. It was repotted many times and survived several moves on my part. Now it sits in my living room in front of the big picture window. It has thrived for so long, reaching 5 feet in height.

I'd like to think that my sailor did too after getting the help he needed. That he grew and is now a strong man. He went on to marry and have children and is content with his life.

After the internet was invented, I've thought about looking him up and offering back his plant on more than one occasion.

But the sad truth, I am now too attached to the "happily ever after" I created for him in my mind that crosses it from time to time when I water that plant.