Tales from Three Rivers - My Neighbor Kay

When I was in a rock band I had a very large and very loud Peavey amplifier. The power amp put out 400 watts of noise through a cabinet containing four 12" speakers, enough volume to make it suitable for playing in a stadium. So you can imagine how my neighbor Kay felt about me practicing my electric guitar or running my stereo this enormous sound machine and blasting Aerosmith through those large speakers. Kay lived across the hall from me in an old house that contained four apartments. The sounds in our apartments were hardly interrupted by the two wooden doors and stairwell that separated our living spaces.

Kay Mardis was a retired elementary school teacher, not an inch over 4' 8" tall if that. She had perfectly done hair, wore thick make up on her aged face, and spent most of her days sitting in her chair chain smoking and watching soap operas. Oh, and knocking on my door telling me to turn my music down.

At this apartment house, the only patch of grass suitable for having a picnic was located directly under Kay's kitchen window. One sunny afternoon some friends and I were grilling steaks and having a good time, when Kay yelled out her window for us to keep it down. I had not formally met this grumpy old woman yet, so I marched right up to her apartment door and knocked. I was greeted by a not-so-happy Elder.

"Hi, my name is Barb and I am sorry we are disturbing you. I wondered if you might like to come out and join us for our picnic and eat some steak?"

This was not what she was expecting. Her face softened and she graciously accepted my invitation. That was the beginning of our wonderful friendship.

I spent many afternoons sitting with Kay, listening to her tell stories of her life. I believe she was in her late 70s when I met her, and she had a rattling cough that came from years of smoking. It was this cough that eventually ended her life.

Kay told of a time when women were not allowed to smoke, and she and her girlfriend teachers would sneak upstairs and sit on a window ledge, puffing away and having the time of their lives. Her story was frequently interrupted by the cough, and she would have to put her red lipstick stained cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, cover her mouth and choke through another spell.

Every holiday, I would cook Kay a special dinner, usually turkey with all the trimmings. It was a ritual that I never missed. Kay had no family, she never found a special someone to spend her life with, had no children or siblings or nieces or nephews. The only folks in her life were me and two former cigarette smoking schoolteacher friends. She would open her wooden apartment door and a smile of pure joy would cover her face. I would carry the hot meal to her kitchen and she would dive in, eating very slowly and deliberating. I would also add a nice bouquet of flowers to the occasion, and I think Kay felt very special on those days. She should have, because she was one of a kind.

Over time, Kay's health began to deteriorate and she ended up in the hospital. That didn't deter my holiday dinner delivery, and all the other patients were green with envy when Kay's turkey dinner appeared one Thanksgiving day. She ate it slowly and deliberately, smiling all the while. It made my heart glad.

Kay didn't come home from the hospital. After several weeks, she was placed in a nursing home. I stopped going to see Kay, because I found it too hard to see her in such ill health. It made me sad, uncomfortable, scared. I didn't want to lose my friend. I didn't know what I would say to her. So I stayed away.

I sadly remember the day when one of the cigarette smoking school teachers knocked on my door, and told me that Kay had passed away. She said Kay had asked about me and wondered why I hadn't been by to see her. I felt horrible. Why had I been so selfish? I began to cry.

Her friends invited me to Kay's apartment one day and said that I could have anything I wanted, something to remember my friend by. I didn't feel like I deserved a thing. But they encouraged me on, so I selected a copper bracelet, an imported salt dish made in England, a milk glass lamp, and an old trunk. I took my treasures back to my apartment across the hall, and closed the door. I felt empty and sad, and diminished in some way by how I had abandoned my friend in her time of need. A very hard lesson for a 20 year old young woman.

Kay was a dear chain smoking old woman who taught me many things. But the most important lesson of all was how to be a friend.