An ode to neighborhood monsters
and things that go bump in the night*
and things that go bump in the night*
In those restless hours of non-sleeping
of having once been asleep, mid-dream, even, just moments before.
In those unsettled moments of too-small neon green numbers glaring
as if mocking the bleary-eyed morning to come
All I can hear is the noise:
the one which woke me up at 3:43 AM
or 2:17
or 5:03, depending
on the day, the season, the circumstance.
It's the unclaimed car alarm, unremitting, repeating at inconvenient irregular intervals.
Or sirens screaming in the distance, growing closer.
Or the thundering footsteps on the walkway, followed by pounding, "Police!" while the drunken or stoned boyfriend/ex-boyfriend/ex-son-in-law echoed curses from the other side of the hollow wood door.
Or the smoke detector’s geriatric 9-volt battery announcing its impending demise.
It's the single gunshot
murdering the man across the street and unnerving my upstairs neighbor for weeks and months to come, although the police were trying to assure us with their words,
"Yes we're certain. The vicitm knew his assailant."
It's the three newborn babies each wailing simultaneously from different apartments, as if calling to out to each other, just to check in on the status of this crazy new thing called life.
Or the husband’s insults on a hot sweaty night, echoing across the concrete driveway,
so loud compared to his wife’s muted sobs.
It's the insomniac elephant above me pacing for hours, thumping, bumping and creaking the floorboards until they screamed.
Or the thundering army of el Niño raindrops rebounding off the driveway and roof.
It's the police helicopter hovering, again: the third time in a week.
Or the car stereo blaring the loud angry bass of the rap music while the engine loudly idles and the driver honks for the dealer across the street to come down.
Or for his friends to come out and party, or both.
It's the high-pitched yelping of the dog, continuing unabated for hours.
It's the ringing of phones, the overheard calls: the anger or joy.
Or the crying.
It's the sequence of the upstairs' sultry one-night-standing: so uninhibited when it doesn't matter whether or what the neighbors might hear.
It's the thumping and thundering of my cat springing off the furniture and running circles around the apartment then jumping on the bed to hunt my ankles
then desperately meowing as he tries to persuade me to feed him again.
And only then I start to wonder...
Did I miss it?
Was there was a full moon?
of having once been asleep, mid-dream, even, just moments before.
In those unsettled moments of too-small neon green numbers glaring
as if mocking the bleary-eyed morning to come
All I can hear is the noise:
the one which woke me up at 3:43 AM
or 2:17
or 5:03, depending
on the day, the season, the circumstance.
It's the unclaimed car alarm, unremitting, repeating at inconvenient irregular intervals.
Or sirens screaming in the distance, growing closer.
Or the thundering footsteps on the walkway, followed by pounding, "Police!" while the drunken or stoned boyfriend/ex-boyfriend/ex-son-in-law echoed curses from the other side of the hollow wood door.
Or the smoke detector’s geriatric 9-volt battery announcing its impending demise.
It's the single gunshot
murdering the man across the street and unnerving my upstairs neighbor for weeks and months to come, although the police were trying to assure us with their words,
"Yes we're certain. The vicitm knew his assailant."
It's the three newborn babies each wailing simultaneously from different apartments, as if calling to out to each other, just to check in on the status of this crazy new thing called life.
Or the husband’s insults on a hot sweaty night, echoing across the concrete driveway,
so loud compared to his wife’s muted sobs.
It's the insomniac elephant above me pacing for hours, thumping, bumping and creaking the floorboards until they screamed.
Or the thundering army of el Niño raindrops rebounding off the driveway and roof.
It's the police helicopter hovering, again: the third time in a week.
Or the car stereo blaring the loud angry bass of the rap music while the engine loudly idles and the driver honks for the dealer across the street to come down.
Or for his friends to come out and party, or both.
It's the high-pitched yelping of the dog, continuing unabated for hours.
It's the ringing of phones, the overheard calls: the anger or joy.
Or the crying.
It's the sequence of the upstairs' sultry one-night-standing: so uninhibited when it doesn't matter whether or what the neighbors might hear.
It's the thumping and thundering of my cat springing off the furniture and running circles around the apartment then jumping on the bed to hunt my ankles
then desperately meowing as he tries to persuade me to feed him again.
And only then I start to wonder...
Did I miss it?
Was there was a full moon?
*all sounds actually heard during a decade of living in an unremarkable one-bedroom apartment in a not-particularly-bad neighborhood
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