Neighbour

I heard a voice as I unlocked the front door;fumbling with the unfamiliar keys.- Hey, hey, up here it said,but there was no-one.It was coming from the top of the stairsof the shack next door.I thumped my way up,unsure if I was doing the right thing,but I didn’t knowand I try to help where I can.There was a man sitting on a plastic chairhis back to a frayed screen doora leg outstretched and badly wrapped,he didn’t look well; thin and unfocused.- Hey, hey man can you do me a favor?Sure why not, I thought.- Can you get me some vodka?- Hit by a car, I need something for the pain- But don’t tell Greg okay?He needed a doctor, not vodkabut he couldn’t afford it;he was waiting to see if the insurance would payfrom the crash but it didn’t seem likely.He'd been on a bike and was Mexicanin Floridathe only thing worse is if you’re blackor gay, or muslim, or Indian,or anythingit's all pretty badespecially in that neighbourhood,though we were only a few streets from the yachtsand the big mansions.I’d said I’d help so I drove to the storewhere the black woman pointed to the one-dollar vodkawhen I showed her the scrap of paperhe'd given meI thought about just getting himthe bigger bottlebut I wasn't sure, so I drove back(strange the driving there)and went back up the stairs.- Thanks man, he said, and, where you from?- Ah yeah man, kangaroo, kangarooI left him talkingand wondered, as I went down the warped stairsto my front door,what my girlfriend would think,was he an addict?Maybe I wouldn’t mention itbut would ask about her friend at workthe one who might not be able to afford her chemoanymore.But then we’d have to think about that manand the people who love himand the hate and the spitein a place that’s so warmand that invites daiquiris and cigars.No I wouldn’t mention her either, the friend,she would probably dieof her woman’s cancerand by then we would have leftand we might be able to forget about it,all of it, though it isn’t likelybecause I can still picture my neighbourwho got hit by a car.