A few months ago an older man moved into the apartment unit below me. On what I imagine was his first week living in my building he knocked on the door while I was still in my pajamas (sans bra) and asked if I had the landlord’s phone number because his electricity wasn’t on. My first thought was if he signed a lease, which conveniently has all of our landlord’s contact info, then he didn’t need to come upstairs to get his phone number. My second thought was the landlord isn’t going to be able to help with your electricity, so you might want to call AEP. Let’s just say I was glad my boyfriend was home, but if he wasn’t then I sure as hell wouldn’t have opened the door.
It all started with a television turned up way too loud. I’m talking the volume sounds like it’s maxing out in the staticky speaker struggling to work sort of way. It’s been an interesting few months filled with other strange noises coming up from below: pained moans, expletives, slamming doors, and the other night it sounded like he launched himself into the refrigerator. I swear I could hear the rattling of jars and bottles knocking into each other the way they do when you shut the fridge door a bit harder than you meant to. On Tuesday, I was sitting at the coffee table making earrings for an upcoming market when a resounding “fuck you” scared the shit out of me. What alarmed me most was the lack of conversation preceding the shouting or following it. Was he talking to himself? I didn’t know, but I could hear him over my t.v. and the conversation I was having.
Clearly, I’ve watched too many true crime shows over the years, because as a woman I’m too scared to go respectfully knock on his door like an adult and ask him to dial it down. I want to do it, trust me, but what if this guy goes fully unhinged and starts making my life a living hell for no reason? If you’ve ever watched Fear Thy Neighbor, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. In my head, I’ve created this narrative (probably thanks to my anxiety) that he’s somehow squatting in the apartment without my landlord’s knowledge. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing to ever happen. In reality, I know this very likely isn’t the case, but I still wonder.
I spend a decent amount of time at home before work, and I never saw this man move in furniture. My dog woke me up at 4:30 am once to go pee and when we walked by his window I think he was sleeping in the living room. The lights are never on and his front window is always open. Does he have a bed? Did he go through a nasty divorce and lose everything?
About a week ago the same neighbor knocked on my door again and asked if he could borrow a plunger.
- I don’t have a plunger (even though I know I should)
- If I had a plunger I wouldn’t let a stranger borrow it (or even a friend really)
My boyfriend saw him leave and pull back up to the curb later with a plunger in hand. I’m glad he sorted out his toilet emergency, but he still remains an enigma. Part of me wants to stop next time I see him sitting in our courtyard on the chair it looks like he stole from a crappy coffee shop and ask what his deal is. His last name is written on his mailbox, and maybe I’m kind of an asshole for never asking for his first name. I guess I prefer the anonymity of my temporary neighbors never knowing too much about me.
I haven’t been at home much the past couple days, so I can’t report on anymore noises from the time I started writing this until now. I’m sure there will be more noises and even fewer answers in the future. I guess my neighbor will remain a mystery for now. Thanks for joining this wild ride of a narrative I’ve made up in my head. I could probably turn my observations into a short story at this point.
The Rummy Writer 