Esther

"You old nappy headed, snaggle toothed, welfare check collecting, no house, box living, infected puss dripping, dick dragging, herpes lipped, son of a bitch!"

Too bad Esther didn't come with a snooze button. I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow.

"You cock sucking, fist fucking, ass licking, mother fucking, bent dick fagot!"

Now wait just a God damn minute, I've never fucked my mother!

"You good for nothing, alcoholic, womanizing, two timing, child molesting, food stamp collecting, standing on the corner all day doing nothing, son of a dirty whore bitch!"

She had me there. I climbed out of bed and stumbled into the shower. The sound of the water drowned her out a little and I couldn't make out the words anymore, but there was no mistaking the tone.

"Blah, blah, blah, blah, you son of a bitch dirty dog you! You low down piece of shit! I hate you bitch! I hate you mother fucker!"

As I turned off the shower her words became clear again. It sounded like she had just about wrapped it up. I got dressed to the sound of now unintelligible screaming and moaning which slowly subsided into sobbing. By the time I had my shoes on the room next door was silent. I locked up my room and walked down the hall and knocked on her door.

"Its open honey," came a sweet and tender voice from the other side. I walked in to find Esther pouring coffee into my favorite cup, the white one with the red K on the front; special K still holding fond memories for me.

Esther was a retired prostitute and crack hooker and that was how she started each day; like some bizarre and foul mouthed female rooster. Esther had been sexually abused by her father at or about the age of nine. That was the first blow life had in store for her. When I met her she was eighty-two and she often spoke of her imminent death as "the rest she so rightly deserved." Every first Friday of the month she would go to the clinic and stand in line for two hours to be told she was completely healthy and had nothing to worry about. I guess that was the last blow life had in store for her; the long wait.

If anyone was qualified to talk about hate, I guess it would be Esther; she hated everything and everyone. For six months I lived next door to her and tried to avoid her as much as possible. During those first six months her mornings were still quite, but she spent the rest of the day screaming at everyone and everything that got in her way. Then one morning I awoke to her screaming and everything changed. I ran over to her room and pounded on the door thinking some crack head was trying to rob her. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when she opened the door. It was just Esther, standing there in her tattered bath robe exposing a few rotten teeth in what I assumed to be an attempt at a smile.

And I was right, it was a smile. Esther invited me in for some coffee and then explained that she had been seeing some new psychologist who had radically changed her therapeutic treatment plan. From now on she was supposed to get up at the crack of dawn and scream obscenities at the world and at her father. She said she felt silly at first but that once she got started it was difficult to stop. We both laughed at the "puss dripping, dick dragging" part and then I had to go to work. The next day Esther screamed again, and again, I went over afterwards for coffee.

Over the next several months Esther told me her story and I told her mine. I stopped using my alarm clock. Every morning at six sharp Esther would wake up the entire boarding house with her screams. I don't think anyone minded that much because she had become so pleasant the rest of the day. It was a little strange at first, but in no time she had become the most popular person in the building. We were all amazed at her transformation. That "old bitch" down the hall now had a name and a story. Her name was Esther and her story was sad. But the more she told it, the happier she seemed to be.

It wasn't just Esther who changed either. One night the Christian couple who ran the place and who always took such pains to turn up the television when they argued; went at it full blast.

"I asked you how much of our money you spent?"

"You sound just like your mother!"

"What? What did you say to me?"

"You heard me," he said trying to sound confident but you could tell he was losing ground fast.

"You pig! You filthy pig! I can't believe you just said that!"

"Well, you sound just like her. What are you doing?"

"I'm making the couch up for you to sleep on, no pigs allowed in the bedroom."

"What, all I said was that you sounded like your mom! Where are you going? Debbie, come back out here!"

"I can't hear you pig!"

"Debbie?"

"Goodnight!"

"Sweetie?"

"Goodnight little piggie!"

"Bitch."

"What did you call me? It looks like Mr. Potty Mouth wants to sleep on the couch forever!"

"Debbie, let me in!"

"Goodnight potty mouth."

"Gad damn it Debbie!"

"Don't you profane the Lord's name!"

"Debbie, please?"

"Good night potty mouthed pig, sweet dreams."

I fell asleep that night to their screaming, but the next night they were quite and so was their television. When my phone got turned off a few weeks later, I thought about going out to have drink, but then I just started yelling at the phone company; quietly at first, then louder and louder. Pretty soon I was screaming at the top of my lungs. It was like the floodgates had been opened and could not be closed again. I felt like I was walking through Time Square naked.

"You filthy mother fucker! You god damn, dirty, rotten, filthy, fucking pig! Why'd you turn my phone off you cock sucking mother fucker? If I had a gun I'd come down there and kill every last one of you mother fuckers! I'd gut you and watch you bleed. I'll come down there and put out your eye with a screwdriver! You fucking moron. You sit at your desk and follow your dumb fucking rules! They've got all the answers written down for you don't they? I'm sorry sir, we can't do anything about that. Sorry sir, but my supervisor is not available, would you like her to call you back? Where is she going to call me back at you fucking moron; at the fucking payphone you stupid dick! Is she gonna stop by my house after work and discuss the situation with me? I'm talking to you fucker! What's a matter, cat got your tongue? Don't they have an answer for you? What, is this not in your fucking script?"

I was exhausted and I felt so empty. Fucking Gestalt right? I don't know what you call it, but it felt good. I opened my door and stepped out into the hall. Mr. Jenkins the super was standing on a ladder changing a light bulb. "phone got shut off huh?"

"Sure," I mumbled and went straight over to Esther's door. She was smiling when she opened the door.

"Felt God damn good didn't it," she asked. That was the first night I didn't go to the bar in a long time.

About nine months later, I overslept and was late for work one day. I didn't think anything of it; I just jumped up and tried to get dressed as quickly as possible. I was brushing my teeth when it hit me.

"Esther!" It was after seven thirty.

When I got to her door, half the building was already there, pounding and calling her name. Somehow, I already knew what happened.

"Call 911 and get the hell out of the way," I said.

Mr. Green and I kicked in the door. We found Esther still lying in her bed. She was already cold. She must have died sometime late in the night. She looked peaceful, "the rest she so rightly deserved." I skipped work and went to the bar. A couple of weeks later I moved out of that boarding house. It was way too quite for my taste.