Who is my neighbour?

People in the first few years away from home learn a lot of things through experience. Through scrapes they didn’t see coming.

One young man took a train to another town to spend New Year with some Uni mates. Now, he was totally skint, having blown his loan and interest free overdraft on Christmas presents for his family and a real sitar he saw on ebay. Fortunately, his mate had promised to put him up and buy him drinks for the night, so he was on his way.

He’d got to about Colchester when he noticed his phone had switched itself off. He turned it back on just in case his mate had sent him a text. Plans were pretty vague – he’d just ring when he got there and his mate would come and pick him up. ‘I’m only 5 minutes’ walk from the station.’ Fine.

Then the young man noticed his battery was low. Ok. Let’s turn it off now so it’s definitely got enough when I get there. He’ll probably have a charger at his house.

The young man sauntered out the station in his check shirt and best jeans, ready to party. He turned on his phone and rang his mate. Answer phone. He tried again. Answer phone. He started writing a text... the phone died. He got to the Nokia screen before it died again. Oh dear.

The young man had never been to this town before. The street lights were pretty dull, and there were already plenty of drunk groups swaying past. A little guy in a beanie was slumped on a bench, talking to himself. No cash either. He figured his mate would work it out soon enough - especially with two missed calls - and come pick him up.

30 minutes later. No sign of his mate, and it was getting cold. Worse, he started feeling his chest tighten. Not now. It had been a couple of years since he last had an asthma attack, and he assumed he’d got over it.

A minute, 2 minutes, and he was bent over, straining for breath. Panic had set in. He desperately tried to breathe deeply but nothing came. A bunch of skirts passed. ‘Help,’ he gasped. ‘Asthma’. They cackled at him and kept walking.

The young man turned back to the station entrance. One attendant was locking up for the night. He tried to pull himself together and communicate clearly.

‘Help… asthma.’

‘Sorry, I’m afraid we’re not allowed to give out inhalers.’

‘Please…’

‘Why don’t you just use a paper bag?’

Then the attendant was gone. The young man looked around. Nothing. He grabbed a timetable, then tried breathing through his shirt. No good. He collapsed against the wall. His vision was starting to fizz...

An inhaler hovered in front of him, an arm behind it. The young man grabbed the thing and shoved it in his mouth. Oh…

When his vision recovered, the young man saw his saviour was the little guy in the beanie. He smelt of stale beer. And the guy was staring at him; full on; without a blink.

The young man handed the inhaler back. ‘Thanks,’ he said, still breathless.

‘Hold onto it,’ the little guy said. ‘You still need it.’

‘It’s not my prescription,’ said the young man.

‘You’re still not breathing right.’

The young man gave in, and took a couple more pumps. The little guy was still staring at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked the young man. ‘Why don’t you have your inhaler?’

‘I left it at home. I don’t need it very often.’

‘I saw no one would help you. You need help, don’t you?’

‘I’m here to see my mate, but my phone died and he hasn’t picked me up.’

‘So what are you going to do now?’

The young man started to say something, then stopped. ‘I don’t know’.

‘You don’t want to stay here. Those drunk people will do anything to you.’

The young man was still cautious. He asked the beanie, ‘Have you got some change?’

The little guy looked pleased, and started patting his pockets. Then his face fell. ‘No.’

‘Don’t worry mate,’ the young man said; then coughed violently. ‘Something will turn up.’

‘I can show you anywhere you want to go. I really wouldn’t stay here. The police will come and you don’t want them to find you.’

‘Where else is there to go?’

The little guy thought hard for a second, then relaxed. ‘I can put you in a hotel.’

‘What?’

He was getting a little excited by the idea. ‘Yes. There’s a Travelodge by the river. I’ll use my credit card. Yes.’

Now the young man was feeling bad. ‘No… you can’t.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘Because… It wouldn’t be right.’

‘What wouldn’t?’

‘…’ The young man realised there was no good way to say what he was going to say, so he didn’t say it. Another gust of wind shivered through him, rattling his ribcage. ‘Thank you. I’ll come.’

At the Travelodge, the beanie man was undeterred by the lack of attendants and called out. ‘Is anyone going to serve us?’

Eventually a young girl in a uniform sloped in. ‘What do you want?’

‘My friend needs a bed for the night. What rooms do you have?’

‘We’ve got a couple.’

‘Are they comfortable?’

‘They’re all the same.’

‘My friend has asthma. He needs a comfortable room.’

‘They’re not the Hilton.’

‘But they’re comfortable?’

‘Yes they’re comfortable.’

‘Okay, one night for my friend. Does that come with breakfast? He needs a good breakfast too.’

‘No, you have to pay for breakfast.’

‘Right well I’ll pay for a breakfast now as well then.’ The guy looked back at the young man, sitting there with his jaw on the floor. ‘And anything else he needs, give it to him. I’ll pay when I come back tomorrow.’

The little guy in the beanie handed over his card, and the young man got safely home. He never saw that guy again; but he could never see the world the same either.