Kilter Street Profiles: Hubby

Elana Elisa’s husband is known around these parts as “Hubby.” I’ve never heard him referred to by a name. She calls him Hubby; other people usually call him “Elana’s husband” or “The Hubs.” When they speak to him face-to-face, I don’t know what they say. “Hey, you?” Never heard a name.

He doesn’t talk a lot or show up much in any of the building’s common areas. Not that he seems unfriendly. He has a gentle, polite air, a small but genuine smile. He’s middle-aged and balding. His bald spot is pink-white. It reminds me in a weird way of an atmospheric storm on a planet, like the Great Red Spot of Jupiter.

He likes to wear socks with sandals, and knee-length shorts and untucked button-down shirts. He has a brown and gray chevron mustache. I don’t know what he does for a living, or if he’s retired or unemployed.

Kilter Street Profiles: John

John, from Apartment 3c, can always get the elevator at Kilter Street Manor Apartments to work for him. It’s reluctant or uncooperative for everyone else, but not for him. Maybe because he has a sunny disposition. He’s always smiling, but somehow without seeming creepy.

He’s an event planner who specializes in themed parties. Zeb also regularly consults with him about the apartment building’s communal get-togethers; he’s good at stretching a limited budget.

Some people doubt that he can be a good event planner, because he is legally blind. But he does well.

As for his appearance: he’s got a medium build and medium height, pale skin and thick brown hair. Nothing about his looks is really remarkable, except for his smile. Which again, isn’t creepy, not exactly, though it does sometimes make people wonder what there is to smile about so much.

Kilter Street Profiles: G.S. Frisch

Gilbert Sullivan Frisch, who lives in Apartment 2a, doesn’t like Gilbert & Sullivan’s music, though his adopted parents do, very much. He turned up in their living room, as a baby, no one knows from where. A recording of The Pirates of Penzance was playing at the time.

He likes to go by G.S. Frisch. Or Gil, call him Gil. Not Gilbert, or Sully.

Gil is a tall, balding man with a pleasant, good-looking face and a peaches and cream complexion. He’s in his mid to late 30s. The first impression he gives is of a man who’s nice but not particularly confident.

He currently works as a security guard at the City Folk Art Museum. He used to be a social worker.

Kilter Street Profiles: Hank and Ivy

Hank and Ivy are married and share many interests. They’re independent and intertwined, mapping out a shared life of love and nerdy pursuits.

Both are in their early 30s. Ivy has a Mexican American mother and African American father. Hank has an African American mother and Irish American father. Both of them have dark hair that they occasionally dye blue, purple, or green, as the mood strikes.

Their chief passion is creating and playing computer games. Additional interests: gardening, making and wearing costumes, and playing board games and capture the flag. They’re big on role-playing of all sorts. As far as work goes, both their jobs involve programming, I think; they don’t talk much about their work.

Currently, Ivy is pregnant.

Some of Their Differences

From what I’ve seen, Hank has a stronger tendency to get stressed out and be pessimistic. Ivy is more prone to flights of fantasy, with amazing ideas as a result, though not all of them can be effected within the limitations of this world. (But do we fully understand the limits of this world?)

Day After Halloween: Worst Fear Round-Up

Throughout October, Zeb asked Kilter Street Manor residents to write their worst fear and leave it in a basket in the mailroom. Everyone chose to do it anonymously, and most people typed up their notes. Now Zeb has tacked the notes up on the mailroom bulletin board, crowding out the takeout menus and the polaroid photos of bare tree branches Mrs. Selby has taken to sharing.

Here are the worst fears, the day after Halloween 2015

Continue reading “Day After Halloween: Worst Fear Round-Up”

Kilter Street Profiles: Mrs. Selby

Does Mrs. Selby have a first name? Her mailbox just says ‘Selby,’ and to be honest, I can’t imagine her with a first name. She seems like she was born Mrs. Selby. (Selby being the name of her second husband, I think.)

Mrs. Selby is old. How old? I don’t know. I’ve heard people wishing her happy birthday on different dates, and she seems to just absorb multiple birthdays as if they’re nothing.

She’s a beautiful woman. Not a magazine beauty, but beautiful in the way of an old china gravy boat or a lace doily. She can talk about almost anything: The weather, the flowers on her windowsill, what she tells her flowers when they’re dying on her. She talks about the mice and squirrels that live in the walls. She’s heard ghosts in the corridors of our apartment building. She tells me about her childhood, her jolly drunk father, her mother who never smiled. She describes books she reads, written by outdoorsy folk who wax poetic about the tawny hides of fawns in dappled woods. She watches black-and-white movies and spoils the endings for me. She watches soap operas and fills me in on which pair of amnesiacs made love last week on a hospital bed or a bearskin rug. I know all of the pet peeves of both her late husbands. As a rule though, she never talks about her only child, who died when he was twenty.

Continue reading “Kilter Street Profiles: Mrs. Selby”

Kilter Street Profiles: Sigrid

Origins & Appearance

Sigrid, of Apartment 2b, has an ethereal beauty – she’s willowy with white-blonde hair, blue eyes, an aura of calm. She doesn’t say much, and I can imagine that people project a lot onto her (I know I started to, and had to catch myself – probably I’ll need to keep catching myself). They read in her what they want to see. I want to know what she sees.

She manages the arts programs at The Sunny Tortoise Senior Living Facility. Her sense of style tends towards pastels, artistic jewelry, things that are floaty, soft, and colorful.

Around Sigrid’s Home

Her fairy Christmas tree

Stories Inspired by Sigrid

When Linda Sketched the Dead