Frank

So awhile back Patrick and I met the old man upstairs. The one who drowns his plants and sends a waterfall of gross down onto our patio on a regular basis... he seems nice, his name is Frank. The other day he was sitting on the steps when I left for work and on my way out he asked me if he was being too loud at night. I told him we could sometimes hear him walking around, but that it didn't bother us since we both sleep really hard. I also told him that it would kind of freak us out if we didn't hear him walking around from time to time. He sheepishly told me that his sleep schedule is very disorganized because he has trouble sleeping for longer than a couple of hours at a time. He was telling me he had been in 'the war' (I'm not sure which one he meant) and that it often gives him nightmares, and for a second he sort of reminded me of a teacher I had once, and I wanted to ask him a billion different questions about the war he was in. I was on my way to work though, and he didn't really look like he wanted to go into any detail about it... I think he lives up there all by himself, and despite some of our differences, I wonder sometimes if he would be offended if we dropped by with some brownies or invited him to dinner...some days he hangs a flag out over our balcony and I can hear him watching the news and singing with his guitar. We very clearly see the world differently, and judging by my limited knowledge of him and also the attire he was wearing when I met him, it is really clear that our political views are very different. I want to know why he feels that way. I want to understand where he is coming from as an elder, but I also worry about him. I can't imagine what it must be like to have PTSD, or to have killed someone (like i imagine he must have). He is about as old as my great grampa would have been I think. Sometimes when I meet older people I wonder if they knew my great grampa and I wonder if they might have been friends with him.... At night, I sometimes listen for the footsteps on the cieling, and think to myself 'At least Frank is okay.' But I often wonder if he really is 'okay'. I know if it was me, I wouldn't be happy up there by myself with no visitors... Maybe soon I will work up the courage to offer him food... Maybe for Christmas, I may buy a little plant for him and leave it outside his door...