O P I N I O N
LIZARD/THINK
By Izzy DelOrfano
Once upon a time, dear reader, my life was not so glamorous. As I’m sure you imagine, I now live in a grandiose apartment in the North End, with a doorman, lobby, and elevator. And when I’m not counting my jewels or attending dinners of beef Wellington beef tartare and all the other shapes they make beef into, I recline in an Adirondack chair, swirling pearly champagne in a cartoonishly large glass above my green-clear pool, tended by a glistening, tanned lifeguard, reminiscing about life when I arrived here in Manchester.
For a while, I shelled out basically all of my money I was making as a janitor to share a one-bedroom, roach-infested apartment with a roommate, but after a while my sensibility for the finer things, like bedroom walls and lockable windows, led me to seek more comfortable surroundings. Luckily, my boyfriend was essentially squatting (it’s a long story) in an apartment which was much nicer. It even had closets!
The door still didn’t lock, but it wasn’t so easy to access, so I no longer had the trouble of teenagers “accidentally” entering the apartment through the window. I was still in college, so the lack of electricity eventually became an issue, but I could charge my phone at work, which is also where I hid in the closet to do my homework.
Above is a very poetic picture of a Superman toy we found on the ground. We put him on the roof to watch the sun with us. I hope he’s still there.
Shortly after this stint, we found an actual place to live, where we could pay the bills and there were locks on the doors. But I always felt more like someone who lived there, than someone who was working two or three jobs at a time, or someone with a bachelor’s degree. Yet I was. I think the people I meet can smell that on me.
I was not born or raised in Manchester, so I don’t know what people are talking about when they bring up Manchester’s “glory days.” But I think at this point I know it’s murky depths. There is not a black-and-white delineation in this city, like others, of who’s above and who’s below. I am reminded of a time, while waiting for a friend to go to an artist talk at a gallery, a scruffy looking deaf guy approached me to ask for a cigarette. I let him type on my phone since I can’t sign. We had a conversation in my notes app. He told me he became deaf in Iraq, when he was16. He then offered me a beer and a joint from a very full pocket. I declined and then entered a milky-white gallery to chitchat with people wearing pointy boots about the intersection of physicality and decay in edible fine art installations. I enjoyed both conversations equally – a lot.
I could tell a hundred stories like this, but you get the point. Manchester isn’t a scary place. Unless, maybe you scare easily. I make an effort to talk to everyone that approaches me, and not everyone wants to do that. I accepted money from a drunk woman when she saw me walking home with the cat I’d just rescued in a rainstorm. I learned French behind Cat Alley from a Congolese man on my lunch break. Maybe doing those things are risky behaviors. I think they are the bare minimum of accepting socialization when it offers itself to you.
Of course Manchester isn’t what it used to be. Old businesses have closed, new ones open, people who used to be staples of the community retire or move away, the whirlpool of a small city flushes history away and pulls new characters to the surface. Manchester is transient. To me, that makes it special. Whatever happened to the clown on stilts who used to tromp around at night, and why does everyone know him but not his name? That’s part of the beauty of it I think. To fear what Manchester is – teeming with chances to learn about someone new – that’s fearing life itself.
But of course not! This isn’t what anyone fears. It’s not new people or experiences, it’s the DRUGS! It’s all about the drugs! The people that do and sell them, that’s terrifying! They’re invading our city! Of course you can tell who they are – you see them on the street all the time. They’re dropping needles in the parks, they’re a hazard to all of us! You know who they are, right? Can’t you tell the difference?
I wonder if anyone who will ever read this, is one of the people who’s made comments on how I look like a junkie on the street. Here are the facts – on any list you check, from any source, Manchester is not even close to having a serious drug problem compared to anywhere else in the U.S., and is even doing good compared to some other places in New England. Several studies that focus strictly on New Hampshire make Manchester look pretty bad, but they seem to love including outside factors as part of their statistics. Like, why are non-drug-related suicides on every chart about opioid-related deaths? Around 2015-2017 there was a nasty spike, but we’re back to being pretty much on par with the national average. Of course, all the data on this is outdated, since apparently no one’s been keeping track since 2024. And yes, improvements can always be made, but it would be foolish to think the problem will ever completely go away as long as fentanyl exists.
I don’t think people in Manchester are really scared of drugs, though. If they were, they’d be carrying Narcan and giving out pamphlets on harm reduction. They’d be participating in needle cleanups. I think people in Manchester are afraid of looking at poor people. I think they’re afraid of talking to people who aren’t salaried, people who don’t have driveways, and you can tell. I think they’re afraid of regular people who live in regular apartments, or crappy ones. Which is funny because there’s always been more of one than the other.
This isn’t a condemnation of “normal people” – I think we’d all like to be one some day. It’s a condemnation of antisociality and fear. This week, I would like to encourage you to talk to someone. Outside. Not from work or someone you know, but just go sit in the park or something. Talk to the old ladies – I’m sure your park has some. I moved here because I had to, but I stayed because I liked it. Not the potholes or the weather, but the people.
Izzy DelOrfano is a Manchester-based graphic novelist and writer. She is an NEC graduate and SNHU student, as well as a founding member of New England Artists for Action. When she’s not selling wares at art markets or drawing comics, she spends time cooking, putzing around downtown, and hanging out with her cat. She can be reached at lizzardthing@gmail.com