Walls That Comfort Us

On a very warm and humid day in the middle of Iowa I sat on my son’s rented patio contemplating the status I’ve now been saddled with. For decades I’ve achieved a standard of seemingly responsible. Surprising given the last two landlords I’ve had to tolerate relieved me, illegally, of my deposit. This last one takes the cake too.

Between my thoughts and the parking lot, a young woman I’ve seen moving into this apartment building, arrives and gets out of her vehicle. She and I have exchanged smiles but never any words. She seems uncertain of me even four and five smiles in. Today, much to my surprise she speaks.

“I guess we won’t be neighbours anymore.”

She has a very heavy tone in her voice, sad, weary eyes, and three young boys in the car who seem to need the reigns loosened. I asked her why with genuine interest even though I already knew what was coming. This time it’s a downstairs single male who has complained about noise. She’s moving out at the request of the management company who owns far too many of the buildings in this part of our small city. She explains her situation to me, a stranger. I know she is confiding this to leave a mark someone might notice. So her flavor of anonymous might know some relief.

I have eyes that communicate who I am. And as I listen to her, I have ears that actually hear what she wants me to know. She sees me listening. I can also hear her hungry boys in our back ground. Others only see “unruly". I am myself, been rendered leaseless. So pulling together something “wholesome” for these very tired boys isn’t happening. They get big eyes for the cookies and milk, and even smiled a little bit.

Another woman, another landlord story of violation. Yes, I said violation. I have been violated by my landlord. As has she and her boys. The sanctity of the homes we pay so much for, governed and ruled by these Lord’s who are clear and practiced in their methods of theft. We are gouged by them and thankful when they smile on us as they take more than their fair share.

The waiting list at legal aid is eight weeks long at the moment. Which, as it turns out is better than the waiting list at the rv park, it is 30 names long at the one, and 50, at the other. Times is hard. Um, well, Times is good but not for we who live off the good wishes of others, the will of lords is favored, and tenant rights are only as good as the lawyer who enforces them. Can you afford a lawyer?

She didn’t even know that a tenant, by law, can not be removed because of noise. But I’m fully aware that because I’m a strong woman with a low voice and no fear of landlords, my lease was not renewed because he didn’t like me. Little of this matters, however, when an entire college town has accepted the standard practice of discrimination. Bold, white faced, youthful, and gouging the very people that keep its heart beating.

I share my experience with those who cross paths with me. I am not one to go along with the accepted practices of the haves, in the face of the have nots. The only way to keep others from such discomfort, is to expose its source to them, so they might avoid it. But this time I’m hesitant. This time as I say good bye to this woman and her children, wish her luck, and encourage her to hold on, I think to myself…

Part II