Downstairs Neighbors
I came home from the hospital with the speed and energy of a snail. There was a time I enjoyed being alone, but this pain quickly changed my mind. I sure could use a helping hand or a hug right now. It’s incredible how much dust accumulated while I was at the downtown medical hotel. I looked in the fridge for food; instead, I found a middle school science project gone wrong. Water doesn’t go rancid. Does it?
While I was in the hospital, new neighbors moved into the apartment below mine. I hope they are quiet lovers because sound carries in this building. Most nights, the last couple sounded like they had hardcore porn blasting through rock concert-grade speakers.
Since my painkillers and alcohol don’t mix, I pour the cold water into a wine goblet. I hobble my way to the sofa and flop down. I have decided that I will start reading the Harry Potter series during this downtime. If I finish it — that’s a whole other Jerry Springer show.
Laying on the couch deep into the Sorcerer’s Stone, I hear my new neighbor struggle to find the right key to get into his apartment. I hear him say, “Hi, Sweets, I am home. How was your day?” She must be a soft-spoken woman. One thing is for sure; she is a lucky woman.
Morning came much quicker than usual. I stagger to the bathroom, hoping and praying that I don’t pee myself. I am pulling down my pants and stepping away from the toilet — whew! I made it. I can hear someone in the shower downstairs, “Sweets, I’ll be right there. I imagine you are starving.” He even makes her breakfast. Is this man perfect, and is she a pampered princess?
The milk expired eight days ago. Dry, stale cereal it is. I hear my neighbor in the hallway, “Have a good day, sweetie; I have to run to the grocery store after work. I’ll see you when I get home.” Seriously, he goes grocery shopping too. I start cleaning out the fridge, jealous of his wife’s fortune.
My goal today is to finish that book and maybe dust it. I can plant a garden on top of my entertainment center in a few days. I wonder if he cleans too. My guess is yes. Either he loves that woman dearly, or she whips him. I suppose it doesn’t matter either way — she is lucky to have him.
Sitting on a kitchen chair, I wash the sky-high mound of dishes. Where has the time gone? It’s already close to seven o’clock. I hear the jingle of keys, and the downstairs door creaks open, “Sweets, I am home. I’ll make dinner after I put these groceries away.” I sigh; shit, I didn’t make it to the grocery store today. I sure could use a man like him in my life.
I can barely bring my arms up to brush my hair. I sip my fresh wine-goblet of water to get my painkiller down. From downstairs, I hear, “Ok, Sweets, I’ll brush your hair in a few minutes. I have to finish tidying up the living room.” I roll my eyes; that bitch better appreciate him and be grateful that she won’t have snarls or an indoor entertainment center garden.
It’s another bowl of cereal before I leave my apartment and head to the doctor. Putting my coat on is like torture. Trust me when I tell you, do everything you can to avoid back surgery. Sore and annoyed, I hear him, “Let me get your coat, and we will leave in a minute. Thank you for being so patient.” Ugh, really?
I push the elevator button to go downstairs. The doors open, and I see the man coming out of his apartment door. His back is facing me. I clear my throat, “Hi.” He turns to me with a young cat in his arms. The cat has long fur under a pink kitten coat, “Hi, I am Steve, and this is Sweets.”
Sweets? All this time, he was catering to an adorable kitten?” I smile, “Maybe we can have coffee sometime.”
THE END
Mojha MacDowell
Proofread by Maryann Lindquist
