goddess of the hunt

my (ex)neighbor moved [was evicted] earlier this week and i no longer have to lock my door when i come home. it felt bittersweet watching her go; but i was sick of the stalking, the paranoia, the changing of locks, the standing out in the middle of the street with a hundred dollar bill, screaming "i got my own money now."

her apartment faced the courtyard and she always kept her blinds drawn wide open, asking for help, asking for someone to peek inside and see into her world. i remember when i first moved here, walking by and wondering about the sad, lonely woman whose living room tableaus provided such passing melancholies.

she asked every woman she ever saw me with (my roommate, my half-roommate, my ______), "what did you call me?" and they would provide startled answers or else walk away. she once traded Jache a painting for two cigarettes. a week later she asked:

"has he sold it yet?"
-what?
"has he sold the painting yet?"
-no, i don't no, i don't think so.
"well, tell him not to."

i changed her kitchen light bulb once and declined her invitations for movies and art galleries and Naples. i found her once angrily smoking in her doorway and she told me she had no food. i gave her a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, and two weeks later a bottle of wine showed up on my door. i passed it along to a friend of mine, but a month later my (ex)neighbor came calling for a corkscrew. i told her i didn't have one and she went away, but i spent the rest of the night thinking that she must now know i never drank that bottle of wine...

and i began locking my door.

it is sad to watch the facades break and crumble, watch the masks pass away and reveal the sad souls of middle-aged women who were once beautiful and crazy - but are now only crazy.

a prayer for you all.

om shanti, om shanti, om shanti.