The Man Upstairs

My favorite saying is one I don’t believe, dear reader. I understand what it is trying to say, I just think it says it poorly. I heard it first from a very old woman wearing pigtails. I do not care to explain our meeting, but the saying, dear sweet reader, is a gem. This we’ll get into.

Our conversation went like this:

“I’m so afraid. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Well, what if the man upstairs only has one leg?”

Beautiful. Absolutely perfect. I’d never heard this before, but of course being the absolute kook I am, I loved it immediately. The more I thought about it–and I thought about it a lot–the more I found issue with it.

I decided to write a story about why. Here.

The Man Upstairs.

The Man Upstairs had no regard for the timing of E’s morning nap. Just when she would settle into the perfect mattress-dent, a shoe would hit the other side of her ceiling. Wherever she lived, she found more of the same. Never could she read in peace, or sip tea to the quiet morning without the constant clomping of shoes on the floors above. Footsteps seemed to fall from their owner’s feet as if they were ten sizes too big. 

On a particularly soft Sunday morning, E decided to steep a tea of her own creation. She named it after herself of course, including only modest scents, and the cleanest leaves. She saved this for special mornings–the ones that called out to be slept through–the ones she would spend on her porch, basking in the glow of the newly born sun. 

In these moments, she thought that drinking tea alone was the most important thing she would ever do. In these moments, she felt happy.

The man upstairs hadn’t bothered her for at least a day. It seemed like his last shoe had fallen–that maybe he had found the right size at last. 

The kitchen timer dinged, and E pulled herself from her perch to retrieve her tea. With a sarine smile and soft steps, she took the mug she herself had painted in two hands, and sighed with pleasure. Her first step from the kitchen towards the morning light was interrupted by a thundering crash from above. It startled her so completely that she threw the mug clear across the room. E watched in horror as it shattered into pieces, spewing sweet E tea on the foyer rug. 

“That’s it!” E screamed, breaking her personal silence for the first time in days. She ran to her laptop, hair aflame, and demanded this horrifically rude neighbor be removed.

Her landlord was a lazy man who cared very little who lived in his building. As long as they paid by the first of the month, they were of no consequence to him. As someone who always paid a week early, E had some pull with the lazy lump. It was quite easy to persuade him to allow her to interview her next overhead neighbor. When the Man Upstairs’ lease was up, E got to work.

She interviewed dozens of folks and then dozens more. Some were too loud, some were musicians, some seemed like the kind to have parties. And their feet! Their feet were all much too big for her liking. None of them were adequately silent. Well, none until the man with only one leg. She was thrilled at the prospect of a single foot–a single shoe! She handed him a pen and told him where to sign.

At last, thought E. At last.

The first of the month came, and after the footsteps of the movers subsided, E’s ceiling was silent as death. She was thrilled. E decided to congratulate herself on a job excellently done with a special blend of tea with the most lovely herbs imaginable. She boiled the water–being careful to turn the stove off before the kettle whistled–and began her seven minute steep. 

She returned to her couch, where she smiled to herself for nearly all seven of her idle minutes. Then, she heard a voice from above and the closing of a door. That’s alright, thought E. Surely temporary bustling. 

Only seconds left for her tea, and E went back to smiling. Smiling and sighing. 

Oh, but then, POUND POUND POUND on the ceiling above. POUND POUND POUND. “What?” Shrieked E, “How can this be?”

It was as if someone was up there…jumping. No. It was as if someone was up there. Hopping. 

Ding. Her tea was ready.

I love you dear reader.

-Al