I don't know her name but she's made her presence known. I just moved into this apartment and had barely

taken out the last of my boxes to the curb when I heard her crying. The faint, soft whimpers of someone sad.

In the beginning I thought the sound was coming from the apartment next door. The crying was elusive to

locate and because I had just moved in, I tried to ignore it. But I was never one to ignore the pains of other's

and finally, shyly knocked on the door.

 

But no one answered my knock. I saw the living room curtains open and looked in, feeling like a peeping

tom, but still, I saw no one. I returned to my apartment and tried to relax, but the thought of someone crying

bothered me. Who was the woman? Why was she crying and could I help her? Then, as the days turned

into weeks, by accident or chance, I meet the woman next door to me, doing her laundry. As I entered the

laundry room, I nodded, and sat my basket of clothes and soap on top of the washer next to her.

 

She was a Spanish gal, short; shy, with long silky black hair. Like many in this small northern California town,

she didn't speak English. In the last two years I learned that small talk conversation was just not possible on

the city bus when they don't speak English. She looked nervous and I assumed that it was because she hadn't

seen me before! I tried to ask her how long she was going to be, till done, but she didn't understand my words.

As I looked into her deep brown eyes, I sensed that there was something else bothering her, something

mysterious!

 

I pointed to her, and then pointed to my eye as if tears were rolling down, and suddenly she became very

frightened! She shook her head and pointed to my apartment and replied, "Ella se rezaga en su dormitorio,

ella muri all�? I shook my head no, and raised my hands, trying to tell her I did not understand. Quickly she

opened her small purse and looked quickly for a pen and paper.

 

Anxiously, she wrote a message down; in Spanish of course, and pushed it in my hand! Then she stopped

folding her clothes and hurriedly put the rest in her basket and she was gone! I was left with more questions,

then answers as I separated colors from whites and put my quarters in. When I went back to my apartment,

I remembered the piece of paper she had given to me. I went to my computer and typed in the words she

had written; in a language translation site and hit enter!

 

To my shock, it read; "She lingers in your bedroom, she died there"! At that instant, I just sat in my chair,

stunned, as if time had stopped! I had no doubt that my neighbor wasn't playing a joke. I saw it in her eyes

that she was frightened. I knew it wasn't any use to go and knock on her door. She probably wouldn't

answer anyway! So instead, I walked down to see the rental office to see the manager. I waited until the

receptionist motioned me to go in, and I thanked her. I could see by the look on Mrs. Wood's face that

she knew exactly why I was there.

 

Before I sat down I placed the note in front of her on the desk, then I sat down. “I want to know who the

woman was who died in my apartment. I want to know how she died and why? I want to know why you

didn't tell me before I rented my apartment". Her eyes were looking down at the piece of paper, then to

me, and she began to cry. It had been a heavy secret she had been carrying. "Who gave you this"; she

asked? "That's not important! I would have found out sooner or later.

 

I have felt a presence in my bedroom, I have heard her crying. Please tell me what happened to her"? "Before

you moved in, a woman by the name of Angela Dawson lived there by herself. She met a nice man and they

fell in love. They were married just a single day, when he kissed her good-bye and went to a near-by

convenience store. On the way back, a drunk driver ran a stop sign with the police behind him, and he

hit her husband’s car, and he died at the scene. She was so devastated, she took her life, in the bedroom;

and I have been told that the sounds of crying can be heard.

 

I really didn't believe it, and so, I re-rented the apartment. It had been vacant for three months, and every

time I came and showed it to someone, I never saw or heard anything unusual"! At that moment, I don't

know who felt more sad, the manager or me? All I could say was; "You should have told me"! I got up

turned and walked out! Before I went back to my apartment, I felt drawn to do something to express to

the ghostly spirit that remained in my apartment, that I was sorry.

 

To show that I cared! I stopped at a florist shop across from my apartment complex, and bought a long

stemmed rose. When I got back, I sat the rose on the counter and got my clothes out of the washer and

put them in the dryer. Then I put the other load in the washer and went back inside. I took the rose and

sat it on the window sill and I sat down on the bed. For perhaps 30 minutes I talked to her, not knowing

if she was there, or if she could hear me. I told her how sorry I was that her husband had died.

 

I told her I was sure that he missed her as deeply as she missed him! Then I felt a breeze and because my

bedroom window was closed, I looked up at the window, and there she was! She was a beautiful woman

still in her wedding dress, and she was holding the rose I had left for her. She looked so sad; I felt my heart

being ripped out. Then she looked into my eyes, and she whispered "Thank you for being so kind. He

meant the world to me and I could not bear living with him. I guess I just wanted someone to show they

cared, to listen, to comfort me. Good-bye"!

 

With those words she vanished. I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks as I raised my hand to wave

good-bye. I never heard the sounds of her crying again. I never felt her presence either. But for as long as

I have this apartment, I will remember Angela!
 
©2006 Raymond Cook (All rights reserved)