The Neighbour

I live in one of those charming older apartment buildings where the suites are bigger than in the newer ones, brighter, sunnier and have nice hardwood floors. Of course, it also means that the walls are paper thin and badly isolated. Fortunately, for the most part, the people living in the building are very quiet, all except my next door neighbour, Sandy.

Her apartment is adjacent to mine. We share a common wall which separates my bedroom from her living room. To minimize the impact, I positioned the head of my bed against the opposite wall. Never-the-less, she is loud. When I say loud, I mean earsplitting loud. She has no concept of what it entails to live in an apartment building and no consideration for others what-so-ever. Recently she started working from home; therefore, precluding us from any possible relief, save perhaps for the fact that she travels quite often. Everything about her is loud. She has a shrilling voice; she speaks loud, walks heavy, slams doors and blasts her stereo system to the max.

As of late, she switched her answering machine for a voice mail. Until them, I could have written down for her the name and phone number of every callers. I know more about her life than I do about my own friends. I can tell by the pattern of noise she makes, whether she has just met someone new or just been dumped. She doesn’t seem to realize that the noise in the building reverberates in every suite.

To make matter worse, Sandy is also sexually – enthusiastic -, but far from monogamic. Her performances would make Harry believe that Sally wasn’t all that good an actress after all. Sandy is the real deal, the triple x kind of vocal deal.

Worst still is her TV which is connected to a surround sound system. When she switches it on, the walls vibrate. Sometimes I can’t even hear my own TV, two rooms away. Over the years I have tried leaving gentle notes on her door asking for her to move it away from the wall, perhaps even consider lowering the volume, to no avail. I have tried knocking on the door, but she can’t hear it. Eventually I resorted to banging on the wall with both fists, sometimes screaming at the top of my lungs. It sounds rather uncivilized but it works, at least temporarily.

By nature, I am a sound sleeper. The moment my head touches the pillow, I am asleep. So I try to ignore the noise she makes for as long as I can and then I usually pass out. After all, one must choose carefully one’s battles.

Last Wednesday night though, she woke me up. Nothing ever wakes me up but she did. I looked at the clock, it was well passed midnight. I was fuming. I had to work in the morning. I got up and banged on the wall with all the fury I could muster. The music went down right away but she had visitors, so she probably felt compelled to demonstrate some indignation. I heard her shrilling voice through the wall: But I am never here! I am never here! Someone must have told her it was getting pretty late for a week night because she shut up right away. She seemed to assume that we are all allowed a certain amount of annoyance days and because she is never home, she could make them all happen at once.

Last night she knocked at my door while I was cooking dinner. I knew it was here. I was hoping for a confrontation. I had so much on my mind that I wanted to share with her. I opened the door; she was standing there, silent. She stretched to look over my shoulder, and pointed at the TV which was playing in the background.

“You watch TV too!” She exclaimed as though I had ever pretended otherwise.

“Well yes, but you can’t hear it from your place.”

“Well… it’s only because the volume is low…”

I looked at her and smiled. Mona Lisa would have been proud. “Gee… are you always that smart?”

She looked at me slightly puzzled. An awkward silence followed. It seems she was expecting me to say something. I was too hungry to think it through. I stepped back, closed the door very slowly and went back to my dinner.

I have the feeling I am not done yet banging on the wall. Worst still, I have the distinct impression that she has no idea why I do it in the first place.