Radiator Lullibies

I live in a cute little old building in Atlanta that was built in the early 1920s from what my research tells me. I'm not sure what it was in its previously lives, but surely it was not always an 8-apartment walk-up, as the strange doors-that-go-to-nowhere and ancient painted-over doorbell ringers tell me. Sometimes I wish I knew, just because I am a history freak and I'd love to know. Other times I'm glad I don't, as I think my imagination may do it more justice.

The other night I snuggled down into my bed with my book, as usual. It was the first night that was really cold in Atlanta this season; I finally had to not only take the screens out of my windows and close them, but turn on the heat. Radiator heat, that is.

Another reason I know my darling little brick building must have had many lives before now: there's only one heat source in the building - from down the basement. Not regulated per unit, it heats the whole building as one and, in my case, by three separate white-painted, randomly-chipped ancient radiator grills that wouldn't surprise me a bit if they were the originals. Oh, the stories those almost century-old coils could probably tell!

Which is exactly what occurred to me as I lay in bed that night: oh, if only they could talk! And then, in the silence of my room? I realized they did. They were! Right there, right then, even. I put my book down and listened.

The one who lives in the bedroom was, naturally, the loudest, considering I was right there. Or perhaps it was just happy to have a chance to speak again, having had to live silently under the loud spitting purple air conditioner in the window above her all summer long. She clanked and hissed contentedly, alternating periodically with a soft, warm hum as the other two in my home answered back. The one that lives in the room now reborn as my living room space answered back periodically; a conversation only they understood and rejoiced in, having not spoken for nearly a year. The one who lives in my bathroom must have always been the calming force: she just mostly silently gave off her warm heat and let the others chatter as she contentedly listened.

And whereas most folks might have found it an annoyance or hindrance to sleep? It was a lullaby to me. It was old friends, meeting up and catching up again, happy to be used and loved and alive again. Oh, the things these ancient beings could tell if only we could understand.

It made me wonder: how many other folks before me adjusted those same dials; turning them up, turning them down, allowing them the purpose they were created to do? What hands have been in the same place as mine? Were they old, young, black, white? Since they were born in the 20s, did they see a roaring good time then, only to feel the hurt of the next couple of decades? Did they warmly comfort folks who were missing family members off to Europe or the Pacific in war? Did they see professionals or freedom riders or free-lovers sitting crossed-legged with cherry smoke scented hookahs in front of them that they happily took in, re-warmed and shared back? Or did they ever sit lonely for any extended period of time, just hoping day after day for that little touch that would wake them up once again?

I'll never know. I wish I spoke radiator so they could tell me so.

The nice thing is that they don't know I don't. So the warmth they're giving me this season is not only the heat off their little bodies, but the stories they'll be sharing with me every night as I fall asleep. The knocking, hisses, purrs? Are their lullaby story gifts to me.