In a quaint English town, there lived a woman named Beatrice Smith. She believed she led quite a respectable life. She never had a family or children, but she owned her flat, which was always immaculate and orderly. She also had a decent job as an accountant at a furniture company.
Beatrice lived quietly and contentedly until the age of 50. She was very pleased with her life, especially when compared to her neighbors’. It felt good to know everything was in order for her, as she considered herself a good person who never meant harm to anyone. Her neighbors, on the other hand, were a bit of a mixed bag.
On her landing, for instance, lived a woman well into her 60s. How embarrassing it was, Beatrice thought, that at her age she dyed her hair blue! And she wore tight dresses and jeans. Everyone laughed at her. Clearly the local eccentric.
“Disgraceful!” Beatrice thought as she glanced at the peculiar pensioner, feeling relieved that she looked her age and behaved appropriately.
Then, there was another neighbor who was rather a topic of shame. Only 21, yet she already had a child who seemed about five years old. She must have become pregnant while still in school. Where were her parents? Apparently, the girl had no parents and lived alone with her daughter. She had even befriended the blue-haired pensioner, who babysat while the young woman was out during the day.
This did not surprise Beatrice. “People like that gravitate towards each other,” she thought. “And they avoid me. They see a respectable person and feel ashamed to look them in the eye. We exchange greetings in the lift, and that’s it.”
Her last neighbor was a man around 30. Seeing him for the first time shocked her. All his arms and neck were covered in tattoos! No decent person would do that! Certainly not!
In her younger days, Beatrice had criticized people like him. Perhaps they had nothing else to distinguish themselves and used tattoos to attract attention. Better to read books, she thought.
These thoughts filled her mind each day as she encountered her neighbors. Returning home, she quietly rejoiced in her proper lifestyle and occasionally discussed her neighbors with her only friend over the phone. With little else to talk about, the “tattooed guy,” “young mom,” and “mad old lady” became frequent topics.
One evening, as Beatrice returned from work, her mood was rather grim. For the first time in years, there was a shortfall at work. Who would be blamed? Of course, the accountant. Her head ached, and her ears buzzed while her legs felt unusually heavy.
Barely making it to her building, she collapsed onto a bench. Suddenly, there was a gentle touch on her hand. Looking up, she was surprised to see the blue-haired “pensioner.”
“Are you alright?” she asked kindly. “You look unwell.”
“My head… it hurts,” Beatrice whispered.
“Let’s go see Daniel; he’s home today. You look pale.”
“Who’s Daniel?” Beatrice asked.
“Daniel lives on your floor. He’s a cardiologist. Didn’t you know?”
When they reached Daniel’s door, Beatrice was amazed to see the tattooed man whom she assumed couldn’t possibly be decent.
He checked her blood pressure, had her lie on the sofa, and gave her a tablet. Soon, the headache and buzzing subsided.
“Make sure you book an appointment! You need to monitor your blood pressure, even young ladies like you,” he smiled.
“Thank you,” Beatrice said, feeling oddly embarrassed, recalling how she’d disparaged the tattooed man to her friend, thinking him shallow. And yet, here he was, a doctor saving lives daily.
“It’s nothing. Take care! Come by if you need anything!”
Beatrice returned home, lay on her sofa, and reflected. She was so wrong about him… and the blue-haired pensioner was kind too. She had helped her.
The doorbell rang. It was the blue-haired neighbor with the young girl, the one whom Beatrice thought became a mother too early.
“I just wanted to check on you. Sorry, I’m with little Rosie. Anne’s at work… And I’ve wanted to introduce myself for ages. We all chat with neighbors, but you always keep to yourself!”
“Please, come in. I’ll make some tea,” Beatrice found herself saying. “Thanks for helping me earlier…”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I can tell when someone’s unwell. I looked after my sick mum since I was 14, until she passed when I was over 30. Never had time for studies or romance, just taking care of her… I managed to have a child just in time, though. But Anne’s situation is tougher.”
“Who’s Anne?” Beatrice asked.
“Oh, Anne’s the one next door. Rosie is her sister. Her parents died in a car crash. She adopted Rosie, looks after her, and works all hours. Daniel helps out with money now and then. Yes, Daniel, the one who helped you today…”
Once her neighbor left, Beatrice sat quietly, pondering. Perhaps she should offer Anne some help; she could occasionally babysit Rosie, after all. And she had always wanted to dye her hair a nice auburn. She just thought it was inappropriate at her age. Maybe she’d consult her neighbor about it! And she mustn’t forget to invite Daniel over for pie to thank him…
