Death down the hall.

This week I breathed death in. The stench of death. The presence of death. The lingering aftermath of death.

A neighbor a few doors down died in his apartment. His body had been there for an undetermined amount of time. From the smell of it, it had been some time.

I set out for a midday dog walk with Louis. I was surprised to see a police officer standing in the hallway. These days, that could mean anything.

“Everything okay?“

“Yes.” he said, hands holding his vest on each side, looking straight ahead at the wall. Not turning to look at me while we spoke to each other.

“You startled me.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His tone flat and robotic.

In the elevator down I felt a little bad for telling him he startled me. It must be a strange time to be a police officer.

Downstairs an older couple sat on the cement planter in front of the Acai bowl place. A woman with her head up, big sunglasses hiding her eyes, hands folded together in between her legs stretched out in front of her. A man with a crouched spine, his arm around her shoulder, head hung low, staring blankly at the sidewalk. A younger woman standing in front of them. I overhear her say, “I knew something was not right when I hadn’t heard from him.”

Trying to get a dog to poop is an easy way to eaves drop.

Wellness check. I thought to myself. And came back up.

When the elevator doors opened, the stench of death assaulted my nostrils, lungs, and brain. It’s a very specific smell. Heavier and more penetrating than hot trash on a New York sidewalk in the sweltering sun. Organic and oddly familiar in a striking and odd olfactory way. A scent that hangs like a rotten tooth, dead mouse, and stench of road kill but amplified and hauntingly leaving a specific taste stuck in the back of your throat. It was clear there was death in the building. Just down the hall from me. The smell hung heavy as an invisible assault that struck me, and my dog, and we carried it with us back into our home.

Unsettled. I took Louis back down where I encountered the younger woman again. I asked if everything was alright, even though I knew it was not. She told me the elderly couple had just lost their son. He was her best friend. I asked her if I could give her a hug. She agreed. And we hugged, as two strangers, and wept on the sidewalk.

I didn’t know him. I may have met him in passing once or twice, but can’t recall his face, and certainly wouldn’t know him by name. He was a neighbor none the less.

Reminders of his death are still in my daily life, days later. How apartment door sealed with a medical examiners sticker. A large industrial fan in the hallway blowing 24/7 to circulate the air and combat the odor, and likely slow the growth of bacteria.

I think this kind of proximity to death instantaneously teaches the body something and rewires the brain. It’s like it ignites a spiritual muscle memory triggering a reminder of the fragility of life with a heavy hit of “that will be you someday.”

I have been watching the county medical examiners website for hints of his cause of death. I didn’t know these sorts of things were public record. My neighbors information is not yet posted. In the meantime, I am struck by the count and locations of daily death.

Locations like public sidewalk, residence, motel, cliff, warehouse, train tracks, parking lot… People who are children, parents, friends, grandparents, loved ones of someone somewhere. People who are somebody to someone. People who were loved deeply and now lost.

As bodies are nabbed off of the street by masked thugs and disappeared.

As internment camps are erected.

As swag is being sold and bought for the likes of an “Alligator Alcatraz”.

As missing people are counted from unexpected flooding.

As bombs are dropped on cities.

People are dying everyday without the help of a Felon’s Administration.

This week as I breathed death in, I wondered: What compels someone to knowingly, willingly and pridefully stand on the side of death? How might they change their stance if they were to breathe in the air of death that they cause? Would they be haunted by the scent?

The presence of a stranger’s absence brought me closer to these things I will never understand. As long as I live.