Not Forgettable

I had been living in the big city of Calgary for three whole days.

My roommate got home from work just after I did.

“Hey,” she said. “How as your day?”

“It was good,” I told her . “I . . .”

“We've been invited to a party,” she said, sorting through the day's mail.

I stared at her. “But I don't know anyone.”

“Oh, it was our Landlord,” she said. “He's always throwing parties. And we're invited.” She looked at me. “He's quite a guy,” she added. “You'll never forget him!”

“Oh. Umm . . . okay.”

“Soo . . . let's go.”

“What? Now?!”

“Sure.”

I discovered that our Landlord lived in the apartment just below us.

And that the party was already well under way when we got there.

Food. Drinks. Laughter.

Music.

And lots and lots of people.

Lots.

We edged our way in.

“How did you get invited to this?” I shouted into her ear.

“He was out on the balcony having a smoke when I got home,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Come on. He wants to meet you.”

We worked our way through the crowded room.

As she edged me past yet another knot of happily engaged people, I happened to glance up at the wall closest to us.

Covering most of it, was the RCMP crest.

“Huh. Look at that!” I shouted. “The RCMP crest!”

My roommate nodded. “Yeah!” she shouted back. “Our Landlord used to be in the RCMP!”

“Cool!” I studied it as we made our slow way past. It must have been about four feet square.

Bright and shining in the dim room.

“Wow!” I shouted “If every officer wore one of those, it'd be like wearing a bullet-proof shield!”

And it was at that precise moment that the entire room happened to be drawing its collective breath in its collective conversations.

And the current song ended.

My comment rang out over the quiet room as though it had been shouted.

Which it had.

It was also at that exact time that my roommate stopped in front of a man in a wheelchair.

Obviously a quadriplegic.

“Umm . . . this is our Landlord,” she said. She leaned toward him. “This is my new roommate!”

The man was drinking a beer through a straw.

He nodded and smiled at his newest permanently-crimson-faced tenant. “Wish I'd had one of those 'bullet-proof shields',” he said.

“Ummm . . . yeah,” I managed.

“Would have come in quite handy.”

“Yeah,” I said again.

My roommate and I moved on.

“Wow! Look at the time!” I said. “We should be probably be getting back to the apartment!”

We had been there for a grand total of about five minutes.

And it was 4:00 in the afternoon.

But definitely time to head home.

After that initial awkward meeting, we were in his home many times.

Along with most of the people in the apartment building.

Always, he was cheerful and smiling.

And welcoming.

With never a word over the injury, sustained while on duty, that changed his life forever.

My roommate was right.

I never forgot him.