The Upstairs Neighbor by Matt Rittenhouse

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I can hear, all night, the man above me walking about. Helen and I, we sleep beneath a thin ceiling, and all night above us are these hard-heeled steps. We hear him late at night in his kitchen, banging dishes in the sink, walking heavily; he never takes off his shoes. Guy upstairs I see him sometimes. Regular fella. Sporty. Has a sporty car, and a rack on top of the car. His kids visit on the weekends. He runs the garbage disposal close to my head. Close to Helen’s head he runs this garbage disposal and she groans and turns over. My guess is that he has trouble sleeping. I think he sleeps with his shoes on. Always that clacking thud, and Helen turning over, towards me, or away from me, depending. Like the gears of his feet are attached to her body, and he thuds and she turns. I imagine it’s me.

I don’t ever say anything to him. I see it this way. Years from now it’s me upstairs. I’m walking on the ceiling, running the garbage disposal, sweeping the floor, and opening and shutting the windows because I don’t manage nights well. Helen no longer turns over beside me and I keep moving at night because I’m unable to stop listing my mistakes. By that time we’ve had kids, and the kids only visit me on weekends. Late at night when they visit I keep my steps light and look in on them sleeping. Late at night I see in their faces, their mother, and I know it will happen each time but I look in on them regardless. And then during the week I stay up late cleaning dishes that are already clean enough. I’m the guy upstairs who keeps moving in and out of each room striking the floor with heavy steps. In the kitchen he bangs dishes in the sink, puts whole tomatoes through the disposal, and sweeps the floor, so that when he finally goes to sleep his body is tired and his ears ring and he does not think, but instead just falls asleep, shoes on, ready to go. At times I want to yell up through the ceiling for him to quit all of the noise, to stop bothering us, but I don’t. I don’t ever stand on the bed and hit the ceiling back because nights are the centers of our worlds, and some worlds fail.