The Upstairs Footsteps Stopped Tonight
i know my upstairs neighbor only by sound. tonight there was the first shoe. then nothing else.
This one goes to a heavy place. If you’d rather not read it tonight, that’s a fine choice — support resources are here.
There's a man upstairs I've never met and I know his whole night by sound.
Home around eleven. The thunk of one shoe, then the other, always a pause between them like he's tired in the same place I am. Water running. The chair that scrapes. Around one he walks the same six steps to the same spot and stands there a while, I don't know doing what, and then the light click and the floor goes quiet.
I've never wondered about him before tonight. He's just the ceiling.
Tonight there was the first shoe. Then nothing. No second shoe, no water, no chair. I've been lying here for an hour listening to a quiet that's the wrong shape.
It's probably nothing. He fell asleep in a chair. People do. I'm not going to knock on a stranger's door at 2am because his routine skipped a beat.
But I can't stop thinking the other thing. That I'd notice. That I know the sound of his night better than anyone knows the sound of mine, and if it were me up there gone quiet, the man downstairs would just think, finally, some peace.
Did this one stay with you?
Keep reading
More like this
Stories in the same key
Picked for the feeling they share with the one you just read.
I Haven't Seen It Close
The silver car's dome light is on now. It wasn't before. Someone opened a door, and I haven't seen it close.
The Blind Spot Behind the Dryer
I do laundry at 2am because the room is always empty. I've mapped the one blind spot in the corner mirror for months, and tonight it isn't.
The Buzzer at 2:37
Someone's been buzzing apartment 4B at 2:37 every night this week. I live in 4B. I still haven't found out who they're looking for.