Foreclosure

June 23, 2014
Gameza, Colombia

When the man called down to us from the balcony, he asked for a pack of cigarettes and something to eat. We went to the market and met him at his front door with the items he requested. As he spoke about his past, I glanced down the dark corridor from which he came. Ankle deep in overgrowth, nature wished to evict him. Veins of ivy crawled on the walls of this unguarded prison. His cell had a key that was used to carve names on the wall. The old man pointed out the ones that belonged to his children. It reminded me of my father when I was young, marking the increments of my changing height on the panel beside the door. But only a troubled soul would etch such lines into adulthood. None of his children came back for him - to care for their toothless, crippled father in his ruin. We said our goodbyes and within a few days, I too forgot about the man on the balcony.

April 17, 2017
The raised hair on my arm reminded me of something, as I walked down the street. I looked in every direction until I found the balcony above, where the man stood so many years ago. But it was different now. The roof had collapsed at the spot where I heard his plea - the scaffolding of his sorrows buried in tile and brick. I peeked through the rusted door hinge, concerned for his well-being, as if everything transpired in real time. The corridor was so thick with thistles that I could no longer read the wall. Just then, I felt a dreadful breeze come from inside. The exhale briefly parted the untamed grasses, hissing caution toward me as if the house found new tenants. There was no notice of foreclosure, but his eviction was evident. Now his vacancy takes residence in the halls of my mind.