The Beekeeper

Magali Gomez was born in Mexico City and moved to New York in 2020.  She has a degree in communications from Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico.  She is currently working on a photography project related to the struggles people face when they immigrate.  She is an alumna of Columbia University’s Community Impact and is currently enrolled in the Community College of New York.

This is my second time coming to this building. It used to be a madhouse and I feel the heavy, negative atmosphere even more intensely, but not because of the insane inmates who used to live around here more than a century ago, but because of the people who are gazing at me as if I just came out of  an alien spaceship.

My family and I need a new apartment, and it would be better to find one sooner than later.  I wish that this woman showed more empathy and patience, but she didn’t want to wait, she kept saying that we ought to come in person to give her the deposit today, otherwise we’d lose the opportunity to get a unique opening in a world in lockdown. Now I’m here and she’s not, but there is a steel mailbox at the concierge to deposit the payment for our leasing.

This place looks like a maze, and everything around feels dark and cold.  It seems different from the day we came about a month ago.  Some walls are now covered with gigantic plastic sheets.  The doors that  are supposed to take you to the courtyard are banned with tapes that recall crime scenes.

This must be a scene from a horror movie, and I definitely need a break. These surroundings make me feel that I don’t belong here, and yet I just gave a deposit to live with my family in this building that is empty of light, life, and people. Today is a shiny day and outside everything looks bright, whereas here inside everything looks somber.

I am walking through the hallway, but for some reason I have this feeling that squeezes my heart.  I try to modify my breathing pace to repel this invisible enemy who’s killing the world.

I go straight to the main level and turn to the right. The hallway looks endless.  The more I move forward, the further I seem to be from the exit.

In the distance I can see someone. A man who looks like he is dressed in an astronaut suit, or rather he looks like a man who is taking care of bees, one of those beekeepers covered from head to toe.  Good news is there are no bees around, the bad news is that he’s coming towards me and this hallway seems too narrow for the both of us.

***

This uniform is unbearable. I feel like an alien… the mask, the gloves, everything…. But I’ve got to be careful with this virus around…. Although I’m not sure about all the things they say on the news.  Seriously?  A lethal virus is killing people just like that?  Oh my… this is surreal!

I’m going to drop this off and I’m going to get the hell out of here.  I have plenty of work to do. I’ve been working a lot these days…  I can’t see well through this mask, I feel like I’m drowning in this suit and  time goes too slow!

Uh uh… Who’s that??  What the hell? 

Is it not supposed to be unfrequented around here? Oh jeez… I need to make this quick!

***

The silence is so loud that I can hear my heart beating. Here he comes. If I stop, it will be worse, but I can’t run, and there’s no turning back, I need to keep walking …

I look straight and I can’t see the end of this stupid hallway. I just want to go back home, wherever home is…

He’s all covered… his face is covered, his head, his hands… this fake beekeeper is walking towards me and somehow I know  that I’m not the only one who’s scared.  I can tell he’s frightened as much as I am.   We are all scared, trying not to talk, not to touch… not to breathe!! It’s like neither him nor I want to breathe at all.

For a  moment, we were very close to each other, we crossed paths and it was the most uncomfortable moment of our day.

Without doubt he’s as afraid as I am,  I could even feel a tint of hate in his eyes when he looked at me.  I’m sure he doesn’t want to be here either.

More than a horror movie this seems like a nightmare, where I play myself and the villain role is played by a poor guy whose only duty was to deliver some food to the apartment behind me.


Moved by Magali’s story? She’s just one of the many voices in our vibrant tapestry of immigrant women storytellers.

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A Heartfelt Thank You: Our ‘Immigrant Women Writing Series – Writing the Self’ initiative is made possible in part with public funds from Creative Learning, supported by the New York State Council on the Arts and administered by LMCC.

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1 Response

  1. adrianna says:

    just wonderful! more stories, please. thank you. be well and safe.