Unbelievable. When I stopped home on my way to a party to find my room mate had moved out. (YAY) The flat was next to trashed. (Not so yay, but half expected) Dishes in the sink, and food left rotting out. The slow realization that it will take me a full day to get the old shit from my scummy, fat, drunken monster of a room mate out of my life for good. (Worth it in the end). Oh and the extremely slow realization that my clothes I had put in the washing machine happen to not be in my room, in the kitchen, my room mate’s room, ANY cupboard, garbage, bathroom, or closet. They were not on the balcony….
Open window on the balcony… No way.
Look Down… Yes way!
Memories of Detroit ghetto coming whirling back to me as I enter the dark flat and the Babushka locks the door and calms the dog. I start to advance to the balcony before I can get no for an answer, I fumble for the light but she turns it on and I meet her scowling bed ridden husband, I say hi in Russian and go to the balcony, easily grab my pants, and narrowly miss the African plaid. I use an old ski rod I find on the balcony but can’t manage to unhook the sleeve. As I am teetering over the edge head first I decide my life is worth more this new years than to get my last 2 shirts, so I go back inside and plan to return the next day when I have more time or hire out a fire truck.
The Old Russians keep talking to me as if I was their Grandson but everything just spins through my head with the rage and disbelief I am feeling. Finally the newest phrase my students taught me pops into my head. Ya Nyez Nayu! I don’t know! The old man keeps talking. Ya Nyez Nayu! HE keeps talking, then he yells it back ‘Ya Nyez Nayu?!’