So, I’m sitting on my bed, just sort of flipping through my thoughts while getting lost in a clothing catalog. It is the epitome of a lazy, grey day and I’m lounging in it unapologetically. There is absolutely no sound anywhere, except for the low din from mykitchen of an occasional ice cube being born and dropped into its bin, and the soothing, repetitive roar of a passing train behind me.
…But a moment ago, the silence was broken by the sound of my landlord’s cough. There was nothing unusual about the cough, mind you, BUT FOR THE FACT THAT IT WAS SO CLEAR, HE MAY AS WELL HAVE BEEN COUGHING IN MY EAR. Yet, he was on the OTHER side of a wall we share in common – the same wall upon which my headboard happens to rest.
I quickly lifted my face from the page of jumpsuits, where I had been paused by the thought, “does anybody actually look GOOD in a jumpsuit?” when another, scarier thought instantly took its place.
“Self”, I said, “if I can hear him COUGH clear as a bell, I wonder if he…can…hear…oh…no…NO…NO…NOOOOO…holy…crap…this…cannot…be…happening…how…will…i…EVER…look…that…man…in…the…face…again…Jesus…Mary…and…Joseph…help…me…I…am…going…straight…to…hell…!!!”
Oh yeah. Yup. Uh huh. It’s like my whole life in that bed keeps flashing before my eyes and, let’s just put it this way, it ain’t exactly a silent movie. I mean, whose is? Maybe I can add another chapter to the book and title it, “Chagrin and the Single Girl”. Ugh.
Next time I hear someone use the expression, “If these walls could talk…” I will retort honestly with, “Um, apparently mine DO!” I guess it’s time to rearrange the furniture.