Life and Death in the Stairwell

                         Life and Death in the Stairwell

 

As I survey the narrow, steep stairway, I console myself with the thought that it’s better than living in the street.

 

Close inspection of these ancient stairs reveals their troubled life. The flat, clean, sturdy and orderly stairs of youth are now cracked, worn down at the edges and stained with age. The paint on the walls reflects the years of wear and tear. Peeling and chipped grey paint reveals hints of happier blue and yellow times of long ago.

 

The light bulb at the base of the stairwell is darkened, crying out for help to no avail. The steps suggest the life above, like the tide dropping debris at water’s edge. A bottle cap, a bandage with a spot of blood, a crushed cigarette, a piece of broken glass, a crumpled tissue and a key- all have a story.

 

As I begin the slow, cautious ascent I spot an untended spider web at the corner of one step. There are holes and gaps in this empty web indicating there will be no luck tonight for the builder. I’m having second thoughts. The stairs wind to the right above, as an unseen light struggles to make the turn to brighten my way. There is no landing ahead to pause and prepare for the final ascent. Instead, the stairs are relentless, narrowing on the right to make the turn challenging and even dangerous. I press on to an unknown future.

 

As I move forward the light brightens. I glance around this turn and look upward to the pinnacle. There sits two polished black shoes. One at the hallway level, standing in profile pointing right. The other of lesser rank sits on the step below hanging dangerously over the step edge, possibly contemplating escape. Shoelaces are pulled askew suggesting some urgency.

 

My senses come alive. I smell a strange mix of musty air, cigars, bourbon and Sugar Pops. My eyes strain to see any form of life. I hear a moaning to the left and I hear heavy, slow footsteps to the right getting louder.

 

I retreat to the darkness on the right and narrow ledge of the stairs, beyond the light. I peek around the turning stairs to observe the man with his white shirt hanging untucked over his pants. He reaches down to pick up his shoes. As he steps down he reaches again and picks up a ten dollar bill from under the lower ranked shoe. Motionless in the shadows I watch as he hurriedly descends to the lowest step. In the dim light, he briefly sits. Man and shoes reunited. Then he is off into the night, never looking back.

 

After a moment to compose myself I continue on to the top of the stairwell. I look up and the bare light bulb is blinding. I hear the click, click sound rushing along the tile floor. Suddenly darkness covers the light and all I see is the bottom of a stiletto heel descending directly upon me. My last thought is “Life is hard in the stairwell” as my six legs are crushed into the cold tile.