3B

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B.
The one who woke up at 2:00am to check her email to see if her son would return from Iraq.
The one who would always park in my spot, reserving it for her husband because he had a bad back.

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B. The one who drank a cup of scotch on her front every Monday morning. Puckering her lips after every sip and shouting "this shit tastes bad" after offering me an unclean glass with dust sitting at the bottom.

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B. The one who used to pin her underwear outside the only window of my apartment using the excuse that her dryer wouldn't turn on.
I never dared asking her if it was plugged in because I could hear her conversations with IT about her MacBook, which coincidently didn't turn on either.

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B.
The one who would get confused in the middle of the night, no longer recognizing the walls that she painted in the late 70's with her children.
The one who used to tell me stories over the phone, even though I was only 5 steps away.

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B.
The one who would bring home stray cats every other week, naming them after expired food in her fridge and pantry.
The one who used to do water aerobics to "Let's Get Physical" in the community pool.

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B.
The one I would see wander the streets asking for her son who had passed.
The one who's husband with the bad back left her in 1960 because the blonde next door "had a better rack".

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B.
The one who used to cook chicken pot pie on Tuesday nights after playing 6 continuous games of checkers.
The one who used to let me stay up until midnight to watch rewinds of M.A.S.H and the occasional rated R movie.

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B.
The one who taught me how to tie my shoes on rollerblades.
The one who used to be a nurse and taught me CPR on a stuffed rabbit, explaining that if he coded, there was a defibrillator in the closet next to the vacuum.

I wanted to write a letter to the woman in 3B.
Telling her that the man in the white coat is here to help, just liked she used to.
Explaining that she doesn't have to be afraid when she can no longer identify herself.
Reminding her to take the blue pill on Tuesdays and the white pill on Thursdays....and to feed her new cat.

I wanted to write the woman who used to live in 3B a letter.
Explaining that the new woman listens to Latino music a little too loud.
The one who curses at her boyfriend over the phone and has a tattoo labeled "boner garage" across her lower abdomen.

I wanted to write the woman who used to live in 3B a letter.
Expressing how much I missed seeing her 8 cats wander the halls and the smell of burnt toast.
Asking how she liked having assistance with her laundry and food in the new facility, knowing she would stick her nose in the air and say her food was better and the guy across the hall cheats while playing checkers.

I wanted to write a letter to my grandmother who used to live in 3B.