People Made Of Glass

Tim seemed to have it all.

He was a trainer at a chic gym. His girlfriend was gorgeous. He lived in a two-bedroom apartment in New York. Plus, he got to have me as a neighbor.

Many times we would connect on our rooftop, usually when there were fireworks bursting over the Hudson River, which happened surprisingly often throughout the year. We would talk about the weather, he would give me some pointers about working out or we would gossip about our mutual neighbors.

The conversations never got too deep, but his laid-back attitude made these interactions more than enjoyable.

Tim was a couple of years my senior and appeared to have his life "together". Because my life was frequently not "together" I was mildly jealous of him.

Because our interactions were irregular, I didn't notice when seeing him became less frequent. At a certain point I think I assumed that he had moved out and I had not been aware...casual relationships dissolve in the blink of an eye in the city.

One afternoon I heard some commotion outside my front door. I looked through the peephole and saw that there were some cops congregating in the hallway. While I would have loved to be anonymously voyeuristic, I abandoned the peephole in favor of getting dressed for work.

Fifteen minutes later when I opened my front door I was greeted by the sight of Tim strapped to a gurney and being transported down seven flights of stairs. Even if I had wanted to inquire to the nature of the situation, the batallion of E.M.T.s and police officers would have thwarted me.

A couple of days later I came across Kevin, a neighbor at the other end of the hall.

"So, did you hear what happened to Tim?" he asked.

Kevin proceeded to inform me that Tim's girlfriend had moved out a few months prior, he had returned to some heavy drug use after years of being clean. Eventually the situation devolved into Tim slashing his wrists. Thankfully, help came in time to save his life, but he was going to be hospitalized for quite a while.

Many months after the attempted suicide I came across Tim in the hallway. Needless to say it was going to be an awkward interaction.

In a perfect world Tim would have had a life-changing epiphany following his attempt to kill himself. Sadly it became apparent to me that Tim was strung out on some kind of drug. His once robust physique was gone. The wounds on his wrists were healed, but still obvious.

He asked if I could spare twenty dollars so that he could take a train to Long Island. I gladly obliged as it would mean a quick end to the interaction.

Maybe a week later we had another hallway encounter. He asked for money once more. Sensing that I was being taken for a ride, I lied and said I had none to spare.

Not too much later a sherriff appeared outside his apartment and slapped some sort of eviction notice on the door.

I never saw Tim after that, but I frequently think about the fragileness of our day-to-day existence because of my encounters with him. What appears strong on the outside may also have a core of weakness that can be debilitating if released.