12. The Apartment on 108th Street

On the corner of 108th street, facing the west side, was a rectangular apartment whose age was apparent in its worn walls, outdated architecture, and the rickety fire escape that zigzagged across the building’s surface. The residents of this apartment had long grown used to the creaking sound of the heating that the younger children liked to attribute to ghosts, the sweltering AC-less summers, and the constant sounds of the street filtering through the thin walls.

No one living in the 108th street apartment really wanted to be there. The majority simply had no other choice, each fallen into their own respective hard times. Perhaps because of this, the atmosphere within the halls and between the residents could best be described as one of tolerant acquaintanceship. Neighbors would nod to each other at most (often there was no acknowledgment at all), though that wasn’t to say that the residents didn’t keep track of each other. They absolutely did; such was necessary to ensure their own continued safety and survival.

Eight years ago, however, a ripple passed through the apartment when a newcomer moved into the last room on the 4th floor. The move itself wasn’t what was surprising; rather, it was the attitude of the young man who’d become their latest neighbor. The man was uncharacteristically cheerful for the place. He seemed completely oblivious of the apartment’s unspoken customs and would greet every person he passed with a friendly smile and wave. The man was fresh out of college and bore with him the glowing hope of someone set on striving in life.

For the next few years, the residents of the apartment slowly but surely grew used to the young man’s presence. People began returning his greetings, some even mimicking his attitude. Little by little, the dreary place became a tad brighter.

Then, four years after the man had first moved in, the room at the end of the 4th floor took in a second resident. A teenager who the man introduced as his younger brother could occasionally be seen exiting from his door, though if he hadn’t been introduced, the other residents would never have suspected that they were related.

Contrary to his elder brother, the younger was ill tempered and foul mouthed. He walked with his shoulders hunched, as if he had something to hide, and his brown eyes constantly scanned his surroundings in a silently judging manner that made others uneasy. The residents always knew when he was in the building because he and his brother would argue loud enough for the whole floor to hear their voices through the thin walls.

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The younger brother wasn’t around much, usually vanished to somewhere else doing who knows what. This was all well and good for the other residents; he brought a nervous energy whenever he set foot in the apartment, and his older brother’s cheeriness always dimmed following his visits. Still, all waves eventually settle no matter how large, and the residents soon grew used to the new occasional presence on the 4th floor.

And so, this new routine continued for another four years. The residents of the 108th street apartment lived their mundane lives, learning to greet one another with a bit more cheer and always smiling at the man in the last room on the 4th floor. They learned to deal with the sound of yelling voices and sharp words whenever the younger brother was there. They learned, and they lived, until one day this new normalcy was broken yet again.

During a quiet evening when the sky was a deep red and the last traces of sunlight were quickly fading, the two brothers were seen exiting the apartment, a heavy air between them. Neither one returned that night, nor the next. Then, a few mornings later, only the younger came back.

The apartment residents would later learn that the cheery older brother had passed away. A car accident, it was said. They passed the words between themselves in hushed voices. For the weeks that followed, people often stopped by the end of the 4th floor, as if to confirm that the man was really gone. Some of the particularly brave ones even knocked on the worn wooden door just to see who would answer. Each time, they would walk away disappointed when only the younger brother responded.

Life moved on. The residents were soon once again preoccupied with their own struggles. The apartment on 108th street returned to its old, dreary days of passing grunts and minimal acknowledgment, only giving their neighbors as much afterthought as was needed to ensure that there was no danger to them or their family.

The loss of the older brother was soon nothing more than a lingering wisp that occasionally sprung up, ghost-like, whenever the younger brother was spotted walking down the hallways. He’d become more present in the apartment after the accident, but was simultaneously quieter now and thus easier to ignore.

After a few initial months of whispered murmurs and crawling rumors, he slipped into the crowd of faces residing in the apartment, just another nameless person in the crowd to be passed without a second glance.