TheBanyanTree: Looking for P

Fri Apr 1 21:32:16 PDT 2011

It was a dark and stormy day in a season of dark and stormy days, and it was
even stormier in Seattle yesterday than at my home, a scant 165 miles away.
Or, I should say, on the eastside, not necessarily in Seattle. I go to the
eastside because that’s where I keep most of my people/clients/friends, but
there’s one particular one in Seattle, and he’s been missing lately.

It’s not as if I’m after him for money. Every month his bank automatically
sends me a check like clockwork, if clockwork were to include issuing
payments for services rendered, or due to be rendered. They haven’t been
rendered lately because said client, P, has been missing, and his bank
account login has been locked somehow and I need him to unlock it. This
happens sometimes, what with all the security measures.

But hey, every month my check comes, no matter what, whether I’m doing any
work or not. It’s the conditions of my contract, which is mostly verbal, or
email-ish. Eventually he’ll come around and I’ll have a lot of catch-up
work, so it all balances out.

I’m worried about P though. He had some health issues this past year, with a
diagnosis which is aggravating and explains a lot of the problems he’s had
functioning this past year. He emailed me when he was diagnosed and was
happy it could be treated, and he would, he said, be working his way back to
health and sanity. Not that he wasn’t sane to begin with, but he’d been
dragged down and out by his illness. We have a business relationship, but
like most of my clients, the good ones anyway, we also have a personal
relationship – I’m the sister he always wanted, and he’s the brother I never
had. Oh sure, I have brothers, but not any gay ones, so P’s the gay brother
I always wanted.

He went on his annual gay cruise, and when he came back he said he was
following a strict regimen every day in order to build his business back up
and to keep getting healthy. He was excited to be getting back to it, and to
start anew.

And then poof, he disappeared again. Emails went unanswered. Voicemails were
left. And no response. In an email last week I said that if I didn’t hear
from him I was going to go knock on his door next time I was in the Seattle
area.

That’s where I found myself last night, on the eastside, and it was still
early evening, or late afternoon, and despite my desire to curl up in my
hotel room with a good book or a bad movie, or both, I went out in the
pouring rain to find P, to track him down to his lair, not knowing what’s
going on with him at all.

First I called another client, one who leases to P, to see if she’d heard
from him. I never discuss my cliens with other clients, but since she sends
her lessees to me and knows I do their accounting, and it was what I
considered an emergency, I thought I could ask her if she’d heard from him.

She hadn’t, not since their last annual dinner a month ago, but she was a
bit concerned about him too, being incommunicado for so long.

It was a good day for driving, what with the rain. At least as good as it
gets in the rain. But the closer I got to Seattle proper the better the
weather got, so much so that when I got into Seattle the streets were dry,
and there were patches of blue in the sky.

Every time I go to Capitol Hill I become convinced that I’m really a city
girl at heart, and Capitol Hill should be my home. I love Seattle the most
of all cities, for reasons that are still unclear to me, and if my life had
gone a different way I might have become a city dweller, instead of the
hardened suburbanite I seem to be. There’s so much green in Seattle, foliage
pours around the city like green cotton candy, and there’s always water to
be seen from some vantage point. The houses are mostly old and scenic, but
mixed in are some newer buildings and some buildings that should be torn
down. Streets are generally narrow, and navigating is a trick not for the
faint of heart, which I usually am, but I was on a mission.

I drove by P’s building, a newish condo building, and by newish I mean
60’s/70’s, which is plenty new enough, believe me. Maybe newer, I don’t
know, maybe older, but certainly newer in the neighborhood. I drove by
because there was no parking, and the time of day meant there’d most likely
be a parking problem. Everyone had gotten off work, and arrived home, and
were planted there, because they could walk to stores, they could walk to
restaurants, it’s a good walking area, it’s not as if there’s a need for
cars, and so the streets were filled with parked cars.

After going by P’s building I went up a couple of streets, back down and
around. His street, in particular, winds and is narrow more than usual, with
oncoming cars having to wait since only one can get through at a time. I
pulled up next to his building in a no parking zone on the other side (other
being a relative term), and I pondered my options. I texted P. “Where does
one park around here?”

No response of course.

I may have been foolish to expect any at all, but I’ve been worried about
him and when I worry about people I try to get to the bottom of things.

“So,” I continued texting, “are you here? Because I’m here.”

No response.

I dialed and got voicemail.

I texted, “If I get a ticket I’m billing you for it. Unless you call me
now.”

An empty threat. For all I know, P could be in the Bahamas on another
cruise, having a great time.

I decided I should get moving, so I drove away. I was determined to get to
the door somehow to at least ring the buzzer.

After driving around and around I ended up at a Safeway, and I parked the
car again. There was a feeling that I needed to pee. If you’ll pardon the
expression. So I went inside the Safeway, bought some brownies just in case
of emergency and a toothbrush and toothpaste, having forgotten mine, and
then was unable to get into the restroom. It was locked, and everyone was
busy, and I didn’t want to walk up to an employee and say, “I have to pee!”
So instead I left.

It wasn’t as if it were an emergency.

I sat in the car for a few minutes. I wouldn’t have minded walking the six
or seven or ten blocks to P’s building, but there were big signs saying that
my car would be towed if I left it there, and I wasn’t in any sort of mood
to have my car towed.

The sun was just starting to set, and it was beautiful outside. It’s not as
if a walk would be a bad thing.

So instead I drove off, made my way back to P’s building, and still could
find no parking within a four block radius.

It occurred to me that indeed the peeing would have to be dealt with, so I
went back to the “main” street and found a QFC, another grocery store, and
parked in their lot. Again, big signs warning me my car would be towed if I
wasn’t a customer.

I went inside and walked all the way around the store and saw no restroom.
On my second trip around I found a tiny frying pan to buy, and then I asked
an employee where they were hiding the restroom. City supermarkets don’t
have as much space, and this one was pretty crowded as it was.

“Down aisle one, through the double black doors to the left,” he said.

I followed his directions. Ah, through those black doors, the ones that are
for employees only. I found myself in an empty warehouse. Empty but for the
pallets of food everywhere. I looked around, saw no restroom. It was
evening, and apparently there’s not  many people around in the evening. I
looked around again and found the restroom behind a pallet of canned goods.
There was a big sign on it, something about no customers after 10 pm, but
since it wasn’t anywhere near 10 pm I thought it was safe. I tried the door,
there being just enough room for a person to squeeze in there. It was
locked, with one of those numbered locks on it.

Argh. I looked around some more. There had to be people somewhere, didn’t
there? Around another corner was someone. It was hard to tell if he was an
employee or another lost soul – he was dressed as if he’d walked in off the
street, and he might have been high, or he might have been ingesting too
many yeast fumes.

“I’m looking for the restroom,” I said, and he mumbled back something that
sounded like, “mrhghkjfkljdl.”

“Oh,” I responded, but clearly I had no idea what he’d said.

“It’s over there,” he mumbled, sort of comprehensibly, pointing to the
errant restroom, “but he’s in there.” At least that’s what I thought he
said. I don’t know who “he” was and I didn’t care. I just wanted my turn.

I stood there.

He mumbled something else.

“What?” I said.

“Can you leave now? This is a restricted area.” At least that’s what I
thought he said. It may have been, “I think your sheep wandered off.”

Oh.

Suddenly I felt embarrassed, as if I would be featured on the next episode
of Cops if I didn’t hurry up and get out of there. What? Were they making
subatomic fuel cells? Was this where the peace talks were going to happen?
Were we expecting the President to wander on, no doubt to look for a
restroom?

I left quickly, back out through the double black doors, back out through
the store, out the door, and out to my car, and I found myself crying.
Damnit! All I wanted was to find out what had happened to P, and I really
had to pee, and I get kicked out of QFC! I never liked QFC anyway.

There was a homeless guy out on the street selling the current edition of
the homeless newspaper. Isn’t that awesome? That the homeless have their own
newspaper? I, unfortunately, never have cash, so I couldn’t buy one. Anyway,
I didn’t want the homeless guy to see me crying. Right. Because he might
take pity on the poor rich girl.

I got in my car, headed out of the parking lot, and found a Walgreens on the
next block. I parked in their lot, where all the signs said, “Parking for
Walgreens only or we’ll tow your ass and you’ll never see your car again.” I
love the city, but they’re a little anal about their parking.

I walked in Walgreens, hoping word hadn’t spread that there was a crazy lady
wandering the streets trying to get into a restroom. There was an employee
sitting on the floor, pricing many little plastic wrapped objects.

“Do you have a restroom?” I asked, willing to face the consequences if they
did not, which might mean peeing out in back of the Walgreens where all the
homeless people do their business.

She didn’t say a word, but all the little plastic objects slid to the floor
and she got up, led me to the back of the store, took me through the black
doors, and unlocked the bathroom for me. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to
tell her that she was my favorite person in all of Capitol Hill.

Instead I thanked her with my words and went into the restroom.

Once that mission was complete I went shopping. I always go shopping if I’ve
used the restroom because I’m fairly certain that if I were to leave and not
buy anything, after using the restroom, they’d have my car towed just for
the fun of it. Besides, I like to show my appreciation by spending fourteen
dollars or so, a small price to pay to avoid what could have been a very
embarrassing situation.

I got back in my car with my new goodies. My bags were starting to stack up.
And then I pondered my next move. I was going to get to P’s door if it was
the last thing I did. If I had to make a special guest appearance on Cops as
the crazy lady wandering Capitol Hill making small purchases and trying to
break into restrooms. “I only wanted to find P”! I’d scream, as they led me
away in handcuffs.

Again I circle P’s, and I noticed that a few blocks down and a block over,
or vice versa, there was a space or two. Let me make this clear: I do not
parallel park. I know what you’re thinking. A city girl has to be able to
parallel park, right? No. I will live in the city and park only in my very
own driveway, which I will have when I live in the city. But these spaces
had enough room so even I could parallel park, so I circled again, having
missed it the first time, and then went back around and down the narrow
winding street and parked.

By this time it was dark, night having fallen as it tends to do when one is
busy searching for restrooms, and it still wasn’t raining, lucky me, so I
took my brownies, just in case of emergency or in case I could bribe P with
them, and I went walking. I walked by houses which were both mysterious and
inviting, patches of lawn, houses broken up into apartments, stately older
houses with bright windows, and dark sullen houses. Down the street, up a
narrow alleyway, or maybe a street, who can really tell? and over to P’s
building. Still no parking in front. I would have felt abnormally stupid if
there was a parking spot in front.

I stood in front of the door buzzers and momentarily panicked, not sure I
remembered the number of his unit. Fortunately there was a directory, so I
stopped panicking. I rang the buzzer for his unit. And nothing. I texted P
again. “I brought brownies,” it said, on the off chance that he was hiding
inside waiting for someone to bring him brownies.

You don’t know. It could happen. I would come out for brownies.

I was hoping that he was with someone who was looking after him. Or that he
was off vacationing somewhere. So I rang the buzzer a few more times, and
then I called him again.

This was only the third call, but there was a message that the voicemail box
was full, and no more messages could be left.

That is not a good sign.

I did one last text, and this one said, “Apparently your phone is off and
you’re not home, because if you were home, you’d let me in.”

What else could I say, having proven myself to be an abnormally worried
accountant? I considered pressing other buzzers, since there are residents
who know P, some quite well since he’s had dinners for some of the older
ladies who reside there, and was there helping one die last year, but I
didn’t have a good reason to suspect anything. What kind of person goes
around alarming the neighbors and asking questions?

Not me. I don’t know any of his friends, though I do have the name of a
former partner and still good friend somewhere, if I can find it. I need to
find it.

I walked away, no answer to the mystery of P. I don’t know where he’s been.
I don’t know how he is. I don’t know if his illness has gotten bad again, or
if he’s off on vacation in the Bahamas, unable to endure more Seattle rain.
This is not entirely unlikely, given the recent weather and his state of
mind. I know nothing. I do know he’s not languishing around his condo, since
he would have responded somehow.

I walked back to my car in the dark, mostly not tripping over the uneven
sidewalk. I drove north and east, and it started raining again on the
eastside. I got a salad at a drive through and took it back to my room. I
ate my salad while watching “Without A Trace,” and it occurred to me that I
would not do well as an FBI agent. The best I can do when looking for
someone is to stalk them, which apparently isn’t very productive. But
perhaps the FBI has a better training program?

It was raining when I left Seattle today. It was raining on the eastside
when I got up, when I went to breakfast with a great friend and her two
charming daughters, and it was raining when I left the eastside and took the
520 Bridge to Seattle. I could have skipped Seattle altogether, but I like
driving over the bridges. It rained all the way across the bridge, and
everything was grey. The water was grey, the skies were grey, the buildings
on the Seattle side were all grey, the rain giving everything a foggy tint
of grey. Through Seattle and south, all the way to Olympia it rained.

Through a bout of diarrhea which delayed my progress for hours, it rained.
But last night, on Capitol Hill, the weather was perfect, for just that one
block of time, so I could walk Capitol Hill and ring buzzers.

P will show up, and when he does, I'll ask, "Where the hell have you been?"
Well, if he's fine I'll ask that. If he's not I'll say, "Poor baby," and
send him brownies.

-- 
Monique Colver