“He was a wonderful man,” the sweet old lady said.
“This whole apartment, I was tired of the way it looked. But I could have lived in it a lot longer. Thank you for coming.”
Sunny Calabash lived on the third floor. Her neighbor’s husband had died – they lived on the second floor, first apartment on the right of the elevator. Sunny was visiting her. The visit was part of the Jewish practice of sitting shiva when a beloved person died.
It was a nice apartment. Her neighbor told Sunny about it.
“We’ll go to buy furniture,” he said. “He” was her deceased husband.
“We were in the store. I loved the big couch. You’re sitting on it now.”
“It’s a nice couch.” Sunny said.
“Buy it” he said. “He could have said no, with a twinkle in his eye. His eye was always twinkling.  But he said buy it.”
“But you haven’t even sat in it,” I said.
“Buy it,” he said.
“And the chair. There by the window.” Sunny looked at the chair by the window.
“Buy it,” he said.
“The coffee table? He didn’t even look at it. Buy it.”
“The bedroom too. A new king-sized bed. That’s the one he died in. Our old one was only a queen. Buy it. This whole apartment is new. He didn’t care. His eyes always twinkled. Even though he was short. He was shorter than me and I’m not tall.”
“It’s a nice apartment,” Sunny said.
“We were both in the same concentration camp.”
“Did you meet there.”
“No.”  She had such a sweet smile. “We met here. Funny isn’t it, that we were both in the same concentration camp but we only found out when we met here?”
And only here did they find out about buying.


About judyjablow123

In my youth I was a world class tournament golfer. I earned an MA in history at NYU, after which I knew I had had enough of academia. I have remained a student of history. I have a strongly personal - almost entirely negative- take on the contemporary pharmaceutical and mental health industries. That was the impetus for my Bluepolar blog, which will also include stuff on sports, history and anything else that strikes my interest.
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