The Subject: Mr. Alfred Morris III
The Location: 351 Willow Ave bus stop, located in front of Sterling Meadow Towers
The Time: 6:47pm
Every evening, my upstairs-by-three-floors neighbor, Mr. Morris III, arrives at the bus stop at the exact same minute. The exact same minute, every time. The 268 bus, I believe.
“It has to be the only bus that never has a delay,” my mom once said. “Must be nice to take a gamble and win every time.”
Everyone thinks I’m weird. Sometimes I worry I’m not weird enough.
“It’s just a bus, Malik,” Aliyah huffed at dinner. She thought she was so clever, telling Mom that I had been hiding out in my corner again. My corner was the only way I could get a good angle of the bus stop and front door to the apartments from my bedroom window. I had to be able to see while staying unseen.
But when my mom caught me there for the first time, I knew what would happen if she caught
me there the next time.
“Mom says spying is sneaky, and God doesn’t like sneaky,” Aliyah said matter-of-factly. She chugged her milk while she studied Mom’s face, swinging her short legs proudly, looking forward to being rewarded for acting as Mom’s unofficial scout.
Mom looked sternly at me, her mouth in a tight line. She closed her eyes and breathed in, and I for sure thought this would be the end of me as I knew it.
Instead, she breathed out and said, “Curiosity killed the cat, Malik. Being nosy leads to problems, so stop looking for them.”
Mom is wrong.
I don’t go looking for problems. Problems come looking for me. If it wasn’t for me, no one else would notice that after Mr. Morris III gets off the 6:47pm bus, he crosses the street to the phone booth, pops in two quarters, and talks on the phone for 25 minutes exactly (I know since I timed it on my stopwatch).
Then, when he’s finished, he emerges from the booth, crosses the street, and heads toward the mailboxes. Even when there’s mail, he always seemed so…disappointed. Whatever letter or package he’s been waiting for hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve never seen an adult so on edge over some mail. To Mom and Aliyah, keeping tabs on this is pointless. But Alfred Morris III never misses a beat with his routine, and I want to know why.
The next day, I decide I need to take my observation a step further. It’s not enough that I see him on the street. What he does after he comes in is equally important.
Mom doesn’t let us go out of the apartment when she’s not home. Even going out into the hallway is a big no-no. The only access to the inside of the building I have is through the peephole in the front door. Normally, that wouldn’t give me much to work with. Mr. Morris III uses the elevator to get to his floor.
Until this morning, when the elevator was declared closed for maintenance.
Luckily, the staircase is right in front of the door. I have a pretty good view of whoever is coming up or going down. But how will that tell me what I want to know?
Obviously, I’ll need to collect data. It’s not just about when he comes up or down the stairs. What is his mood? His gait? Is he holding anything? Mail, perhaps? Does he stop to talk to anyone in-between floors?
I decided the best way to get a clearer view is through a lens. I managed to connect my minicamera to my desktop some time ago, allowing me to have photos automatically upload into the cloud after the camera takes a photo or video. This would allow me to keep tabs on any motion or movement in real time with a much wider view.
I’ve decided to place the camera where the doorbell used to be before it stopped working and was removed. There, it would be inconspicuous; the lenses are too small to be seen.
I had to wait until Mom left for the day to tape the camera to the wall in the hallway. Of course, as luck would have it, Aliyah was home too, watching me from her scout’s perch on the sofa.
“Mom’s not gonna be happy that you opened the door,” she said, swinging her feet. Aliyah’s always itching to get me into trouble.
I undid the lock and cracked the door. I tucked the camera and a roll of scotch tape in my pocket so Aliyah wouldn’t see what I was up to.
“I’m gonna tell her you let strangers in.”
“Then that would be lying, ‘cause that’s not what I’m doing.”
Stepping into the hallway, I was met with still silence. Most people probably left the building well before I or the sun was awake. The time on my watch read 8:12 am. At exactly 8:20 am, Mr. Morris III would catch the 268 bus on its morning route, meaning that he would head downstairs and be at the bus stop by 8:15. I had three minutes to set up my camera.
I pulled the tape out of my pocket, snapped off a piece, rolled it up into an open ‘o’ and slapped it on the door. Then, I took the camera and smushed it on top of the tape, holding it for a few seconds to make sure it stayed in place.
Three stories up, a door opens and slams shut. Mr. Morris III’s door. It’s 8:14.
I shuffled back into the apartment and quickly closed the door, careful not to slam it behind me just in case the tape felt like loosening its grip to the wall.
Just as I locked the door, heavy footsteps came marching down the stairs. Mr. Morris III made his way to our landing. I took a stool from the kitchen to stand on and peered at him through the peephole.
Instead of continuing downwards, he began looking around nervously. His wrinkled-up jacket crumpled under his hands fisting it, as if he was looking for something.
After surveilling the floor, Mr. Morris III stopped directly in front of the peephole. He stared into it, as if perceiving my presence. I held my breath, making sure he couldn’t hear even the slightest sound. The camera’s automatic shuttering began uploading all the photos it had been taking since I taped it.
Mr. Morris III glared into the peephole: watching, waiting. It is 8:18am. Mr. Morris III snapped out of his strange stupor and headed downstairs.
There’s no way he’s going to make that bus today, I thought, rushing over to my corner. My excitement quickly turned into disappointment when the 268 bus pulled up to the stop, and there Mr. Morris III was, hopping right on it. Aliyah giggles at my defeat. It was 8:20am, and not a minute later.
I sat in front of my computer for what felt like forever, scrolling through what had to have been thirty photos.
I analyzed every shot the camera had captured of Mr. Morris III, but— between blurry screenshots of him mid-action, to simple confused stares in every direction— I couldn’t ascertain anything that could be used as evidence aside from his behavior.
Who or what could have made him look so nervous?
It is now 6:25pm. There is exactly 27 minutes before the 6:47pm drops Mr. Morris III off at the 351 Willow Ave bus stop across the street from Sterling Meadow Towers.
Aliyah skipped into my room, house phone in hand. “Mom said she’s coming home late.”
I leapt from my desk to my bedroom window, about to pick up my binoculars, before an idea popped into my head. I stuck my binoculars in my pants pocket, grabbed my sneakers, and headed towards the front door.
“Ooooh, I’m telling Mom that you left,” Aliyah teased, trailing behind me. “She’s gonna get you this time, for sure.”
“Whatever, Aliyah,” I said, waving her off. I knew I’d get it for sure, but this opportunity was too good to waste. With Mom out of the way, I could sneak downstairs and observe Mr. Morris III before he went back to his apartment. The closer, the better. No more waiting from my observation deck; it was time to do some field work. I’ll finally know what his deal is once and for all.
I headed down to the lobby. Aside from the unattended toolbox and ladder next to the broken-down elevator, the space is empty. I decided to hide behind one of the wide pillars in the middle of the room.
My breath goes heavy, and my hands remain on my binoculars at the ready.
6:30…6:35…6:40
The time felt like it ticked by for hours. The sun began to set until the sky turned purplish black and the street lights came on.
6:46pm…
Just one more minute until the 6:47 bus arrived.
I reach into my pocket for my camera when it hits me. It’s still taped to the side of the door.
I groan in exasperation; how could I possibly forget to bring the one thing that would capture my evidence?
The 6:47pm bus pulls to the stop. Mr. Morris III emerges and makes a beeline to the phone booth. He pops in a quarter and begins speaking into the phone. This time, however, he smiles and laughs.
This is quite strange.
He talks on the phone longer than usual. Maybe he finally received the good news he’s been after for so long.
He hangs up, crosses the street, and heads toward the mailbox, reaching his hand in and pulling out a small package.
Quite strange indeed.
Mr. Morris III looked elated. He’d only been waiting a couple of weeks for this, but you’d think he waited a lifetime.
He pulled out a jackknife and opened the box. It’s a camera, not unlike the one I have. It’s no smaller than a microphone.
Mr. Morris III made his way to the entrance while I shuffled behind the pillar. I held my breath as hard as I could, sweat pooling profusely on my brow. After all this time, I’d never gotten this close to Mr. Morris during my observations. For some reason, getting caught by him seems scarier than being caught by Mom.
Mr. Morris III stood in stillness, the camera in his hand. He slowly turned toward the pillar I hid behind, like he could sense there was a presence.
“Now listen here, little boy,” he said sternly. I gulped. He knows. And now? I’m dead.
“I’ve had it up to here with your spying about. It ends today, and it ends here. With this camera, I’ll have proof you’ve been in my business!”
Mr. Morris III makes a beeline for the pillar. For a man his age, he moves at the speed of light. I turn the corner and head for the stairs.
Spiraling upwards, my heart pounded louder than it ever had. The sounds of my feet hitting the concrete stairs blended in with my heartbeat. Behind me, Mr. Morris III was catching up, no decrease in his steps in sight. He was getting closer and my imminent doom was becoming more palpable by the minute.
I reached the third door: my floor. I didn’t have a key, so the only thing standing between me and death was Aliyah.
“Aliyah, open up! It’s an emergency,” I screamed, furiously banging on the door.
No answer. Typical little sister.
Mr. Morris III crept up the last couple of steps, glaring menacingly, camera in hand.
“Please, Aliyah, he’s gonna get me!”
“Right you are, little sneak,” Mr. Morris III said, inching closer. “Not so fun getting followed around, is it?”
I shut my eyes tightly, my eyes and throat burning with tears. My hand stayed clenched on the knob, praying for a miracle to appear.
In front of me, the door creaked open. A loud clicking sound ripped through the air, and I opened my eyes to find myself standing alone in the hallway, Mr. Morris III’s camera clattering to the ground. A few seconds ago, an angry old man stood behind me, ready to strike. But now, I stood alone, as if no one was ever there with me.
Panting, I turned to find Aliyah standing in the doorway, gleefully holding a small camera in her own hand.
“Told ya God doesn’t like sneaky. You’re gonna be in soooo much trouble when Mom gets home!”