“Yoo Hoo!”

“Yoo Hoo!”

I roll my pillow over my head, hoping, perhaps, to smother myself.

“Yoo Hoo!”

“Yoo Hoo!”

“Yoo Hoo!”

It then occurs to me, at 4:54 AM, that perhaps I am not the one to be smothered, and that no jury on earth could convict me.

“Yoo Hoo!”

It had started in th afternoon. Anytime anyone passed the room of the dotty old bat across the hall, she’d try to flag them down in her faded, mannerly way. It may have been annoying, but it was almost elegant. I could see her in front of the Plaza in the the 20’s or 30’s, flagging down a cab.

“Yoo Hoo!”

It faded into background noise as the day wore it’s way on. By 8PM I was marveling at her stamina, but was convinced she would pass out soon. I mean, being 200 years old and demented must take some effort, yes? Perhaps, but if so I had utterly underestimated the Navy- SEAL like level of dedication this ancient fruit loop had to focus on  her endless, incessant battle cry.

“Yoo Hoo!”

“Yoo Hoo!”

“Yoo Hoo!”

By 10 PM her voice, rather than become weaker, had become more strident- even indignant. She was no longer waiting for people to pass by, but was simply signaling  to the universe, over and over. By midnight she was a clarion call of insanity- if being demented has a recruitment drive, this is the slogan. Sleep was, of course, out of the question.

So eventually, murder became much more of a reasonable option. Of course, I’d have to get over there, but seeing as I was not sleeping, why not? I levered myself into my wheelchair, and noted the only attendant was sound asleep. One less witness, and my jealousy stoked my overtired homicidal urges higher. I rolled quietly into her doorway, and backlit in the light from the hall, politely answered her:

“Yes?”

(Stunned pause) “Is someone there?”

“Yes.”

“Can you help me lower this?” (Weakly fiddles with the guardrail on the bed. It was obvious from the palsied shake that she’d be able to put up no real resistance)

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

(Pause) “Is there anyone else there?”

“No.”

“Is there a doorman?”

“No.”

“Can you help me? I don’t know which way to turn.”

“Ma’am, do you even know what you want?”

“I’m beside myself. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Ah. Then I know what you shoud do.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Shut the hell up. all you are doing is keeping me awake.”

“What?”

“Shut. The . Hell. Up.”

(Pause) “Is there a doorman?”

“No.”

(Pause) “Could you shut the door for me?”

“With pleasure.”

I wheeled myself out and shut the heavy door, leaving her trapped on her bed in the dark- although I suspect that the accomodations inside her head were much nicer than the actual beige linoleum purgatory we share.  She started up again a few minutes later, but it was pleasantly muffled, like a cute girl ilocked n my basement. Comforting. Sleep came swiftly.

She occasionally breaks up the routine with “help me” or  the name of her sister, but generally it’s “Yoo Hoo“. It’s the equavelent of birdsong here. but at least where she is, it’s nice enough to have a doorman. I’ve never had a doorman.

In answer to some of the many comments I have gotten– Yes, I am reachable by cell, Yes, I can can receive visitors, Yes, I would love vistors, Yes I would love to be reintroduced to edible food. If you come while the weather is nice, we can go hang out in a rather pleasant backyard garden, which, ideally, does not smell like old-person-pee.