The Tea Bags On My Balcony

“These are tea bags,” I said. “There are twenty-two of them. Each one is labeled with the date and the minute it landed on my balcony, between the third of October and the thirteenth. They all came from the balcony of 4B. Before that I did not count them, but I can tell you it began in March, and it was twice a day.”

I did not look at Craig, but I could feel the room looking at him.

“I asked him to stop. The first time I brought lemon bars. He said he was half asleep, and he was sorry, and it would not happen again. It happened again the next morning. I asked him a second time, and a third, and a fourth. On the fourth time, he told me that I live underneath him, and that is how buildings work, and that I ought to be thankful because it is only tea.”

“That is not what I said,” Craig said.

“It is exactly what you said,” I told him. “I have no way to prove that part. It’s my word. But I would like to ask the room a question, because I think the next item on the agenda explains something.” I turned around. “The policy proposes a fine for organic debris on balconies, and Craig has listed examples. I’m going to ask only once. Has anyone here ever been reported to this committee, or to Duane, by someone who did not sign their name? For something on a balcony, or in a hall, or a bird feeder, or a stroller?”

For a moment nobody moved.

Then Eddie stood up. He had his cap in his hands.

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to say something.”

Craig gave a little half-laugh. “Eddie, come on. This is a vote on a policy, not a trial.”

“It won’t take long,” Eddie said. “I’ve got coffee grounds on my grill cover. Every morning since June. Somebody on four drinks coffee like it’s a hobby, and I smelled it on the stairs. I scrubbed that cover four times and never knew who to say it to. Because the man who would hear it is the man who’s doing it.”

Someone in the back said “Oh, my Lord.”

“That’s a serious accusation,” Craig said, “and you have no proof.”

“Neither does Lois,” Eddie said. “And yet here’s a whole room that believes her. You might ask yourself why.” He sat down.

I saw Fred take off his glasses and set them on the table.

Then Ginny stood up. She was holding the baby monitor in both hands, the way you hold a prayer book.

“I got a notice in June about my stroller,” she said. “Three complaints in one week. I have lived here two years and I have had that stroller in the same place the whole time. I did not know who to ask. Duane told me it was a resident, and he wasn’t at liberty to say who. I just want to say that I have been scared to leave it where it is. I carry him and the stroller up three flights now, with a bad back, because I didn’t want to be written up again.”

“Ginny,” Duane said, from the side of the room, and his voice had gone quiet, “I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

Trish stood next. She had her arms folded tight across her chest, and I thought for a second she would not manage it. But she said it in one breath.