by Lexy Timms
This wasn’t a cheap neighborhood by any means, which cut down on the noise level compared to other places she had lived in. Before she got her current job working with wealthy clients she lived in a few different cities, in apartments that somehow were always in trashy areas of town.
As she lay there, staring at the ceiling, she remembered the time she lived above a cluster of dirty nightclubs that boasted huge crowds of equally dirty people. Every night was at least ten times as loud as the parties the guy next door held, but that constant cacophony was almost easier to deal with. And she wasn’t sick back then. Here, the whole neighborhood was quiet, so any party sounds stood out like a sore thumb. Especially when, before this guy came, everything was always so serene.
Except, no one else minded, because either they were too far away to hear or they were joining in the fun at the house parties. Plus, what’s-his-name over there appeared to be somewhat of a master gardener. The bushes and trees in his yard were all perfectly trimmed. Within two months of moving in, he had taken the decent work the prior family had done and transformed it into a totally different place. He had already won the neighborhood’s Most Beautiful Trim award for his row of box bushes.
The blatant innuendo in the name of that award made her giggle every time. She remembered she was supposed to be figuring out how to put a stop to the noise once and for all, so she made herself sober up.
Black Cat flinched at a thrilling scream that came from next door, and for a split-second Lillian thought something was wrong. Then she heard manic laughter and something that sounded like a cork popping out.
She and the cat looked at each other. “It’s not that I want the noise to stop completely. I like that they have fun,” she reasoned, trying to not feel like a total jerk. She never wanted to feel like a complete bitch, but she didn’t mind feeling 75% one. “I just want them to be considerate. Is that too much to ask?”
Black Cat blinked slowly and Lillian swore she saw a scowl pass over his face. “Okay, maybe it is too much to ask. People—am I right?”
The cat lowered his head and immediately closed his eyes.
She was officially at a loss. Her heart thudded with every vibration of the sub-woofers next door. Don’t people usually have those in their cars? Does he have them inside the house, or is it just some really advanced sound system? I didn’t think this was a sub-woofer kind of neighborhood.
Well, it wasn’t. Before, at least. But this guy seemed to have brought the subs with him.
With a groan, she stood and dragged her feet to the kitchen, wracking her brain for another way to passive-aggressively ask the guy to quiet down his parties. She had tried giving him the death glare when she saw him, or coughing loudly to act like she was sick. Once she brought her portable speaker outside while she was pressing flowers and played her music loudly enough to be audible next door, and when he got home she turned it down to a more personable volume.
None of those worked, so she tried something different: taking a nap on the front porch for a whole afternoon while he was clipping his bushes. He had smiled and waved, but she was so angry at his obvious cluelessness that she just turned and went back to sleep.
Clearly, this guy wasn’t getting the memo.
He must need an upfront, clear discussion. I guess most men are that way. She started to get some flashbacks from years past that she had buried in her mind for a reason: they weren’t welcome to resurface. At the first sign of them she shook her head to clear it, and opened the cabinet to find a teabag.
Back to the neighbor. Talking to him was obviously the last resort. She didn’t want him thinking she was hitting on him or was upset that she’d never been invited to the parties. Her life now—minus the party noises—was exactly how she had worked so hard to design it. She had spent far too long struggling, and jumping from lame job to lame job to get to this place.
This nice, quiet, well-to-do neighborhood, with elite neighbors and freshly waxed cars in every driveway within a mile.
She didn’t know the guy next door. He had a nice car, kept up his yard better than anyone else in the area ever had, and didn’t do anything out of the ordinary other than these wild weekend parties. But, again, no one else seemed to mind because his shrubbery was so immaculate. That had to be the reason.
I can’t be the only one who has a problem with this, she thought desperately. Her stress level was rising rapidly, and her stomach wasn’t handling it well. She heard it gurgle and felt the nausea sweep over her like a tidal wave. Steadying herself against the counter, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. After a minute or so, she could feel her body again.
Little attacks like that were so unnecessary, and irritated her every time. They aren’t adding anything to my life. Why do they happen so often? A year ago, she only had them every couple of weeks, but when they came upon her more often she decided something wasn’t right inside her. She spent a couple of months having tests and blood work done until they finally reached a definite conclusion.
Calm down, Lillian. What was the trigger? Stress. Absolutely stress. The doctors had warned that stress was a big factor in keeping these small flare-ups at bay. She could still hear the doctor’s voice, asking her if she had a stressful lifestyle. To which, of course, she responded no. Not anymore, at least. She had a stable, well-paying job and lived in a beautiful house in a peaceful neighborhood.
Then that guy moved in.
She sighed. “Tea,” she reminded herself. “Tea. I need to make tea, then figure out what to do about the noise.”
Slowly, she made her way to the sofa and sat in between the cats, who draped their front paws on her lap and continued their oblivious nap. She sipped slowly, thinking about ways to indirectly talk to the guy without taking it too far into the drama zone or without him suspecting something romantic.
He certainly wouldn’t think anything like that, would he? They hadn’t even talked to each other. They had barely seen each other. He had no reason to think that she had any sort of interest in him or his ridiculous parties.
Well, it’s happened before. Again, the unwanted memories. Several times before there had been men who convinced themselves Lillian was in to them, when she had never really spoken to them or spent time in the same vicinity. Luckily, each of those times, she was around friends when the guys confronted her, trying to persuade her of how in love with them she was.
A few times, her personal space had definitely been breached.
Her stomach gurgled just a bit and she shut off her mind. What was it with tonight and all the old thoughts? There were much better things to think about in life now, and what good did dwelling on the past do anyway? She had never heard of anyone who was motivated by toxic memories.
A pause in the music next door brought her back to reality. Moving forward. Her tea level was getting dangerously close to the bottom of the mug. She made a mental note to add it to her food journal and put a check mark beside it. A big, happy, positive check mark that meant she could have no worries about drinking it.
For the time being.
Still at a loss for what the almost-last-ditch-effort should be, she glanced around the room in search of some physical object that might inspire her. Over there, on the desk, was a pile of sticky notes.
“That could work,” she said slowly, her mind racing for the next course of action. Suddenly excited that her troubles might soon come to an end, she grabbed Gray Cat and held her up. “That might be it, kitty! We might be able to sleep in peace soon!”
Startled by the abrupt movements Black Cat flinched, and in one motion was standing stiff on the arm of the sofa. “It’s okay, baby,” Lillian put down the gray cat and rubbed the black one’s ears. “I just got excited. Chill out.”
She swore Black Cat rolled his eyes at her before jumping down and plodding over to the water bowl.
What should I say...what should I say... She resisted the old habit of biting her nails when she was thinking. Another pause in the bass
gave her a moment of silence, propelling her mind forward to plan her move. When the next song began, the bass was such a powerful vibration that she jumped in fright. Every beat thudded so strongly she felt her ribs tremble. An antique plate on the wall in the living room rattled loose from one of its two hooks.
“NO!” she screamed, and bolted over to the plate as the next vibration shook the air. Back in the kitchen she heard cups clink against each other in the sink, but didn’t care. She had to get to the plate.
Another tremor loosened the plate and she dove forward, catching it just before it fell onto the fireplace mantel.
“If I wasn’t so angry, rrrghh!” she yelled at the cats. “I just pulled a ninja move! To save a plate! This guy’s so going down.”
A million things to write in the letter whirled through her mind as she stomped back to the writing desk, and she fought to avoid exploding on paper. “How can I say this concisely?” She tried to make a mental list of the most important things she needed to tell him, but that lasted about ten seconds. “Screw conciseness!” she shouted, banging her fist on the desk. “This is ridiculous!”
Lillian grabbed a pen.
PLEASE. QUIET. DOWN.
Your music made my great-great-grandmother’s plate come loose from the wall and I almost lost it forever.
My cats and I can’t sleep. My work is suffering because I can’t sleep.
I have a health condition that requires me to be as stress-free as possible.
I’m all for having fun, but seriously, man, this is too much.
If I weren’t this nice, I would call the neighborhood association on you, or worse, the police. I mean, what the heck kind of sound system is that loud? Did you get it off the black market or something? It’s insane!!
Keep having fun, but remember there’s a neighbor next door who has a different weekend schedule than you.
Also, I’m so tired of hearing the Top 40. None of those songs are even good. At least find some decent music for your (quieter) parties.
Please don’t make me have to write this again.
Feeling a little better, she threw the pen into its jar. Three sticky notes’ worth of ranting and she didn’t regret one word.
“Okay, the part about you two not being able to sleep is sort of a lie. Also, the weekend schedule.” She waved at the cats, who were sitting in front of the food bowl, watching her intently. “I do work from home on Saturdays and Sundays. Who cares, anyway? I think he’ll get the point. If this isn’t straightforward enough, he’s totally hopeless.”
Gray Cat meowed.
“My great-great-grandmother’s plate! I know!” She looked at the ceiling and let out a groan. “Why does it have to be like this?”
The cats paced around the bag of food and stared at her, their eyes as wide as saucers.
“I’ll feed you after I get back. I’ve got to go take care of this for us.” Lillian snatched up the notes and walked out the front door. She stopped before going down the steps.
“Shoes,” she muttered. “There’s no telling what kind of fluids are on that front porch.” She slipped on her old sandals and marched down. The rain hit her and she let out a string of curses before ducking back under the porch. Growling, she grabbed an umbrella inside the foyer and battled with it for a minute before it finally opened.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she shouted at the sky. When there was no response, she proceeded into the yard. The trees behind her house swayed violently; the storm wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.
There used to be a tiny pathway between the bushes on the edge of her yard and next door’s. When this garden diva guy moved in, that was the first thing he covered up with the scarily symmetrical box bushes. That little shortcut would have been great right now.
Do I cut through the bushes or walk all the way to the street and back through his yard? If she did the latter, maybe someone would see her. His front lights were super bright, and from here she could see the rooms inside were full of people dancing. The music was louder out here, obviously, but she wasn’t expecting there to be this huge of a difference in the volume.
Ridiculous. She studied the creepy square shrubs and couldn’t find even a small gap in them. Especially with how hard the rain was pouring down, there was no way she could get through without soaking her legs.
“If anyone comes out and tries to talk to me,” she grumbled as she circled back around into his yard, “I’m not going to say anything to them. I’m not even going to look at them. And if it’s the owner, I’m just going to shove the note into his hands and get back home as fast as I can!”
With no hesitation, she climbed his steps and stuck the notes onto his front door with a little piece of tape. Satisfied, she crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue at the door. Her ears buzzed from the loud music.
Someone suddenly started singing at the top of their lungs right behind the door, and she flew back down the steps. “Seriously? Why are drunk people so annoying?”
Just as she reached her porch, his front door flew open and a guy and a girl spilled out, obviously intoxicated out of their minds. Trying to walk, they bumped against a chair and fell onto the porch, laughing like idiots.
With a gagging noise, Lillian shook off her umbrella and retreated into her warm, safe house. This was the first time she had gone outside during one of those parties, and suddenly the noise didn’t seem nearly as bad as before. After a few minutes, though, it wore on her nerves again.
She lay down her yoga mat on the floor of her bedroom and did some deep breathing meditations to calm down. It didn’t work, but made her feel like she had done something proactive.
The cats wandered in later as she was covering up in bed. The music was still going strong next door.
“Come here, babies,” she called her pets, and they jumped onto the bed. “He’ll get the note tomorrow when he’s hungover. I’m sure he’ll understand. These loud weekends are going to be over soon.”
Chapter 2
The alarm on her phone blared almost directly into her ear. She flinched, and found herself hanging halfway off the bed. Tangled in the sheets, she threw her arm overhead, trying to find her phone to turn off that dreaded beeping. The cats, frightened by the sudden movement, leapt off the bed, their fur standing on end.
“Why is there so much noise lately!” she yelled, and slapped her phone a few times until the room was coated in silence again. She took a deep breath and pulled herself fully onto the bed.
“Sorry, babies,” she croaked at the two animals. “Bitch-lady is gone. I promise. Come back here. It’s okay.”
Cautiously, they jumped back up and were instantly asleep at her feet. How are they out so fast, like nothing ever happened? It amazes me every time.
She knew if she let herself lie there much longer, she would mess up her sleep routine and be sick. No way. I’m not in a mood to feel like hell today. Too much to do.
Cracking her neck, she calmly reached for her phone. The screen lit up, reminding her of the meeting with a high-profile woman named Jena Landing in 30 minutes.
Her heart stopped. “But today is Saturday.” Lillian sat straight up, swiping her screen and opening apps like a fanatic. “I never make appointments on Saturdays.”
An alert popped up on her screen, letting her know that her phone was about to die. She dismissed it, sure the calendar would open before she lost the last bit of power.
But the phone froze.
“No, no, no!” she yelled, scaring the cats again. Tapping on the phone furiously, she tried to will it to stay alive until she could figure out whether she had the meeting or not.
The phone went black.
“I’m dead if it’s in 30 minutes,” she howled, and dove off the bed. “Where’s the cord? Where’s the plug?”
Searching around the room frantically, she realized she’d left it in the kitchen yesterday. She flew around the corner and ran down the hall, intensely aware of every noise.
Her stomach
began to gurgle.
“Don’t even think about it,” she scolded her belly, pointing at it as if it were a disobedient child. “We’re not going to do this today.”
The cord was on the counter and she plugged her phone in, pressing and holding the power button as if her life depended on it. A battery icon popped up. Phone will turn on when battery reaches 5%.
“Thank bloomin’ goodness it’s a super charger.” In case she did need to meet with that woman in less than half an hour, she quickly put on some coffee and ran to the bathroom to wash her face. The phone was on when she returned.
I sure hope Jena doesn’t mind a fresh-faced organizational consultant, she thought, feeling overwhelmingly guilty for having totally forgotten about this meeting. Trying to stay calm, she unlocked her phone and opened the calendar.
Under the alert that had popped up, there was one word that she hadn’t noticed: Meeting Monday. Prepare folders today.
I can organize anything in other people’s lives, but I can’t even keep my own shit straight. In that moment, a huge weight lifted off her shoulders. After half a minute, however, the sensation of relief turned to a crippling wave of nausea.
“Oh, come on. I haven’t even eaten anything yet today.” Her intestines knotted up and she doubled over, clutching her stomach in agony.
This is too much.
Despite the smell of strong coffee wafting throughout the room, all her energy sapped. She sank to the floor, hugging her knees, wishing she would pass out so at least she wouldn’t have to feel the pain.
Black Cat paced into the room, looking sleepy, and stopped in front of the food bowl. He looked straight at her and meowed as he sat down. Gray Cat came in a moment after, sitting down right beside the black one. Both meowed at the same time, staring at her with their saucer eyes.
Lillian wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating or not.
The coffee maker in the corner beeped three times, announcing the pot was ready. Her phone buzzed as it fetched her emails that had come through last night. The trash can was overflowing, and from this angle down on the floor she saw the glass on the front door was cloudy with so many fingerprints.
