Laura Upstairs

It's a stereotype of sorts, maybe a little slice of the American dream, to move into a new house and be warmly welcomed by the cookie cutter couple that lives next door. One day there's a knock on your door and there they are, partially obscured by some gargantuan gift basket filled with fruit, pasta, vegetables, margarita mix and the rest of the elements of the food pyramid. Six months later, you're borrowing cups of sugar from each other and playing drunken Pictionary together one weekend a month.

Laura intercepted me in the shared stairwell of our newly shared house as I was moving in about a month ago. She welcomed me to my new home with a shy smile the obligatory basket full of food. I was taken aback by her gesture, and accepted the basket excitedly. After I introduced her to my family who were in the midst of moving me in, she mentioned having a lot of extra stuff she was getting rid of that we could have if we wanted it. We talked briefly, and she explained that I should take a look sooner than later because she was going away tomorrow. Anxious not to leave all the moving to my family, I made a quick trip to the 3rd floor with her to see if she had anything that Tim and I might be able to use. I ended up taking a small rack that I could use to get the most out of my minuscule closet space.

I mentioned the experience to Tim, and how she was pretty determined to get rid of all of her stuff. As it was, I didn't really think we needed anything else, but maybe Tim could find something. We found her later, and I introduced them to each other. She showed us around her apartment as if we were at some sort of liquidation sale. Still, something was strange. She even seemed to want to get rid of things that she liked. There was no clear line between what she wanted to keep and what she would leave out on the sidewalk if we didn't take it. Even some of her clothes were up for grabs, as she said they were too big for her now.

I just met this woman. She was nice. I liked her. But I didn't know how to react to some things. When I asked her how long she was going away for, she said she didn't know. "Maybe a couple weeks... or a month, if my dad will take care of me." I think she said her father lived in Acton. Anyway she offered only the vague explanation that she had been sick, but I didn't want to pry. In retrospect, it seems like she somehow wanted to be asked.

Tim and I took a bunch of items off of her hands, but when Tim returned to the apartment, I stayed and talked with her for a while in her kitchen. How did this 35-40 year old woman come to live alone in this place in Lynn? What did she do for work? Who was her family? We talked about anything but the answers to those questions, and her apartment offered only the faintest hints. An old "guy couch" as she put it. A photo of her and what might have been her niece. A few plants that Tim and I took. An ashtray filled with cigarettes on the porch. When I finally left, I was convinced that she had some sort of terminal illness. Still, I wanted to see her again and get to know her, maybe bring some zany color into her apparently quiet life.

Days later, I came home from work to find a note from her that Tim put on my desk. It said she'd be staying in Somerville for a while with someone, and that we should get lunch sometime if I was free. She left a number, which wasn't the same as the number I had already programmed in my phone as "Laura Upstairs." I wanted to call her. I was going to call her. I wish that I had called her.

Laura killed herself a week or so after she was gone. Days later, a moving truck was there and a couple people were upstairs taking away the rest of her things. I paused in the driveway that night and stared up at her porch where I locked eyes with someone who evidently knew her... or not at all.