Moving

June 17, 2018

I’ve found an apartment.

 

About a month ago I had taken all I could take of the man upstairs. Starting on a Friday night he, and his “lady friend,” had come home about 930pm only to rummage about the apartment, in and out of closets, banging furniture around… the usual annoying neighborly stuff. They did this until 1130, and that’s when I noticed they quieted down. Sort of.

 

By 700am they were at it again. This time it continued all day, progressively getting worse and worse, not stopping again until the same time as the night before. Sunday, you ask? Same thing, only this time I was woken up at 6 am. I was unable to read, think clearly, and even abandoned any hope of relaxing and went to help a friend work at his place, only to come home to that same sound of “grrrshhhhhdddddBMBMBM.” You all know the sound of someone dragging a heavy piece of furniture across hardwood floors.

 

By Monday morning I was beyond stressed. 5 am was the start of the crazy people’s day upstairs. I couldn’t take it. I went into the living room and began searching desperately for places to live online. This was something I have been doing, but nothing seemed to be the right price, distance from work/town, and if they were it was usually another barracks-style apartment building that we are in now.

 

Seeing a quaint little place, just past the local college and while not on the main streets of town, on a road that leads right past, I quickly jotted the number down. I had to call. I went and looked at it that afternoon. By Wednesday I had looked at it twice and filled out an application. By Friday we were accepted, and Saturday I gave the deposit.

 

The feeling of relief was incredible. Sure, I had to give my notice to my current apartment. To receive my security deposit back, and to not induce any extra surcharges or fines, I had to give 60 days notice. That means I have to float two apartments for one month.

 

A recent dental visit (no insurance) has set me back a bit, on top of regular payments, floating two apartments and coming up with the deposit really adds up. However, it’s worth it to me.

 

I know there is no guarantee this next place will not be horrible, but I have high hopes. It seemed very quiet all three times I had gone, was closer to the local stores and it will be an even easier commute, than my 4 miles (10 minutes with traffic now). How awesome is all that?

 

Well, doubt did begin to set in, as the dreaded man upstairs went on multiple overnight trips, and wasn’t home for much of the end of May. Every day I drive by the new place I see it is filled with cars.

 

Did I make a mistake?

 

My heart was rife with anxiety. How could I make such a stupid mistake? This guy leaves, a lot, and it isn’t uncommon to have a night or two a week alone. Have I been building all this up in my mind? Am I crazy? Just some unhinged madman who is never happy and always making the worst out of very livable situations?

 

Well, this weekend has made me realize, no I am not crazy.

 

The “lady friend” is back. Again they are moving things around, banging on the walls, and have been since Friday night at, you guessed it, 930pm.

 

Kind of a strange schedule to keep, isn’t it?

 

“Honey, I haven’t been with you in over a month. Won’t you come and stay at my place for a change?”

 

“Sure, my darling, but only under one condition.”

 

Oh, I can see how his beady little eyes contemplate what sick, perverse things she could be thinking of doing. He licks his lips, excited about what that one condition might be. “What, honey? What do you want to do all weekend, nonstop from night to morning, from morning to night?”

 

“Move furniture. Clean. Then do it again the next day,” she hisses out in ecstasy.

 

“Oh!” He cries. “I hoped you would say that!” He is in pure joy at the thought of it now. “Can we run up and down the stairs, bringing boxes to the dumpster, letting the main door slam so hard and wildly the building that everyone’s pictures rattle?”

 

“You know it, baby.”

 

“Yes!” He thinks about what a great match in Heaven they are. “Well, only one thing can seal this deal, babe.”

 

Now it’s her turn to wonder. What could this crazy lover have in mind? She arches an eyebrow.

 

“We need to run from room to room, shoes on the entire time, and drop things down, hard enough for them to bounce and creak and bang against the walls.”

 

“Hells yes,” she says.

 

It’s a deal made in Hell, and a couple to match it.

 

I didn’t hate living here at one point. At one point, while not the best option, it indeed wasn’t obnoxiously annoying. But with the short, stocky, hairy rude man that lives here now, and his insane woman that comes by once a month to move furniture together, it has become a place I dread being at.

 

I’m so hopeful for the future, especially with how crazy these people are upstairs cemented in my mind as reality. I can’t wait, for the quiet, for the cute little porch we’ll have outside our bedroom, all of it.

 

Now it’s just a matter of counting down the days, keeping my fingers crossed nothing radically changes, and then, of course, the only part that could be worse than dealing with the bangs, creaks, and scrapes of the idiots of the top floor: moving furniture and belongings.

 

--f.h.

 

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