Lost in Thought

Chapter 2

For most people, home is the place where they escape the pressures and doldrums of their everyday life. It's their sanctuary, their safe haven. Not me, though. No, it's kind of hard to have any sanctuary when the world's worst neighbor lives above you.

Her stomping around is annoying enough to deal with. She's not an overly heavy-set woman, so it makes no sense that her steps thud as loudly as they do. There are bovine that don't move with as heavy a foot as this bitch does. Her daughter, whom she only gets to see every other weekend because she is already an awful person so she 100% has to be a shitty parent, decides that she has to try to see just how hard she can jump from the bed to floor without actually breaking said floor. When she's not doing that, she and the other awful children in the building run up and down the stairs, shouting racial slurs at each other when they're not shrieking for no reason at all. Seriously, this would be a child abductor's dream: you could walk up and take a kid and no one would think anything of the screams because they happen so often. Way to make yourselves easier targets, dummies.

Then there are the parties. This woman, who could be anywhere from 30-50 thanks to her smoking and drinking habits, throws parties every weekend her kids aren't around (and some when they are) with all of her white trash brethren. It's just awful '90s music with a bunch of hillbillies shouting things like "you gotta make the man work for that pussy" and whatever else human garbage tends to converse about. It's like a Rob Zombie movie come to life but stretched out over months and months.

There was a point, back when I'd first moved in, where I politely asked her and her kids to just understand that while noises will be made, they don't have to be excessive. I may be a huge asshole internally, but I still try to be a decent person to others. I'm starting to wonder why that is. She took this as me giving her a hard time and has proceeded to escalate the noise, seemingly forgetting about how annoying she is for weeks on end before remembering and ratcheting it up again. The cops don't care and the landlord can't be bothered to deal with her. This woman is literally the worst person I've ever encountered and I work in the banking industry. Hitler himself would size up her behavior and mumble "what an asshole..."

I briefly try to concoct a plan where I can push her in front of a bus or cut her brake line, but as it usually does, my brain tells me I can't do that. Sometimes it really is looking out for me. I begin to dream a sweet dream where a zombie apocalypse has destroyed everyone like her as sleep finally envelopes me.

After what feels like mere moments, I'm jolted awake by the sound of screaming. Not fearful screaming, but loud, angry screaming. Confrontational screaming. I check my phone: 3:08 AM. I sit up in bed for a moment, trying to make out what's being yelled, but just comes across as muffled. I throw on a shirt and a pair of basketball shorts and slowly make my way down the hallway to the front door of my apartment. Hulk barely stirs, only offering me a glance that says "don't bother, get back in bed" before resting his head once more. I should start to listen to him more.

I quietly unlock my door and open it, slowly sticking my head out to hear the commotion. It's the neighbor upstairs again having a screaming match with one of her drunken friends. Or maybe it's a boyfriend? I honestly have no idea these days as so many people go in and out of that woman's apartment, it's hard to tell their affiliation. Their screaming is slurred, no doubt by copious amounts of alcohol. She shouts for him to get out of her face, he incoherently shouts something about insulting his family.

They continue this back and forth for another minute before a loud crash nearly sends my bowels into my shorts. The shouting has stopped and for a moment, I'm actually worried for her. "You crazy bitch," he shouts. "The fuck did you do that for?"

The yelling picks right back up where it left off, only now it's joined by the stomping what sounds like a struggle and several loud banging noises. I feel compelled to do something, but don't dare actually go up there. Drunken idiots tend not to see the reason in things regardless of whether or not it benefits them. I decide to call the cops.

Within 10 minutes, a pair of officers roll up to the front of the building. They are no strangers to this complex; I've seen them at least a half dozen times since I moved in. Likely just another day in the life for them when it comes to this place.

They stomp their way up to the top floor and knock on the door of the woman and her angry beau. I can hear the cops asking if everything is alright, letting the couple know they'd received a call about a domestic dispute. Incredibly, they acted as though nothing in the world was wrong. She sweetly talked to them, as if the officers had interrupted them in the middle of their weekly Yahtzee game. They bantered for a few moments before the officers did something I wasn't expecting: they told the couple who had called.

"Yeah, the guy in 202 said you two were screaming at each other and it sounded like a fight," said one of the officers.

Now, it's my understanding that when you call the authorities in this situation, they're not supposed to say who actually called. It is common sense, but these two apparently didn't give a shit. Sorry you had to do your jobs, officers, thanks for throwing me under the bus.

The woman let out an exasperated groan and laughed. "That guy is always complaining," she said. "My girl and her friend try to play or I play a little music and he's up here complaining."

At this point, I began seething. Anger has overtaken me to the point where my heart is trying to jump out of my chest and I am shaking. It takes every fiber of my being for me to resist the urge to storm up the stairs and yell "are you fucking kidding me?" as loudly as I can in her face. I want to transform into a giant green rage monster and reduce this whole building - no, the whole complex - to nothing but smoldering rubble.

The officers share a small laugh with the couple, apologize for the inconvenience and head back down to their squad car. Before they get in, they both shoot an annoyed look at my window and I wish I had the ability to pick up their car and hurl it into the stratosphere.

Needless to say, the scuffle picks up right where it left off before it was so rudely interrupted. More yelling, more stomping, more banging. My shaking continues and I briefly consider destroying everything in my sight before making myself realize that it would only be detrimental to me. I wander back do the hallway and into my bedroom, trying to make sense of everything that has just happened and my place in this world.

Hulk lifts his head and lightly wags his tail as I slink back into bed. He army-crawls his way into the crook of my arm as I begin to softly cry. Hulk does his best to console me, licking my face and nestling up to me. I close my eyes, hoping to be asleep quickly as the warm tears roll down my cheek.