Happy People Live Here

by C. Sean McGee

9A

  Linda tucked her bag into the curve in her arm and inched her way out of the car, careful not to pull on the mats on the floor. This drove her crazy and it was dangerous too. If she was driving and the mat slipped up behind the brake pedal, and if she was coming to a corner, she wouldn’t be able to stop the car in time to save all those poor children.

  “That poor boy,” she thought as she locked the door.

  Linda loved her little car. It wasn’t hers so to speak, it belonged to the clinic she worked for, but it was hers to take her to and from work and she could keep it in her car space at the building and that way, every one of her neighbors would see that she had a car and that she was going places.

  From the elevator door, she stood in silent applause, watching as the light flickered above her car and though it was probably the smallest car in the parking lot, and though its color was probably the most common and drab, it was her car and that made her giddy; quietly giddy, but giddy nonetheless.

  “Miss,” said the person in the elevator for what might have been the fifteenth time. “Miss, are you getting in?”

  Linda turned, broken from her spell. As she stepped in, she stared into the tall mirror that hanged above the elevator. It was there for security, to see if any troublesome or suspect people were lurking about in the darkness, ready to rob her or kidnap her or kidnap her and then rob her and then rape her, or someone just like her.

  The elevator was so slow. It was slow to arrive and it was even slower to leave, even after you’d pressed the button a hundred times. She wondered every now and then, if there ever was someone in the mirror if she did see a bad man waiting by the door to catch her, what the jeepers could she do?

  As the doors started to eventually close, Linda caught one last glimpse of her car under the flickering light and she clutched her hands over her breasts, plagued by the thought of being kidnapped and being set on fire, like what happened to that dentist the other week, the one who had a bottle of rubbing alcohol thrown all over her because she didn’t have any money to give to the thieves.

  And they set her on fire, those no good vagabonds. They did it because they were mad. Because everyone was mad now.

  Linda hated elevators.

  When she was alone she didn’t mind too much, as long as there wasn’t a big mirror on one side. She always felt uncomfortable seeing her reflection looking at her like it always did. She was always waiting for it to come to life and tell her that she should have called her mother and that the small cuts on her thigh, they weren’t accidental; things she didn’t at all want to hear.

  This elevator had such a mirror. But Linda couldn’t see her judging reflection because there were too many people crowded inside. Feeling scores of eyes parading about her, she flattened her dress over her knees with one hand whilst gripping her other hand to her shoulder so that her bags were safe, in case someone tried to rob her when the elevator opened at their floor.

  Everyone was gathered in a kind of circle with their backs against the walls and some with their backs against the mirror. Linda was glad for this, but she didn’t want to have to stand across from someone and have to stare at them or to have to stare at their feet.

  Linda hated feet, even her own.

  Linda stood in front of the door with her back to the other neighbors. She could feel their eyes all staring at her and probably saying things about her haircut, even though she really liked it. People were more often mean and stupid because they didn’t really know anything about what looked pretty or comfortable.

  And if it wasn’t her hair, they’d probably be looking at her calves and how they flickered like the light above her car whenever she had to stand still, especially in front of other people and especially still, when she stood in queues to buy lottery tickets or when she took a shower in winter, but nobody ever saw that.

  It was just a thing.

  “It’s terrible isn’t it?” said a woman behind her, obviously talking about her neighbors, the family in 9B.

  “I don’t know what I’d do,” said another.

  “My brother in law saw it happen you know,” said a third, stepping into the hushed gossip. “Well, he didn’t see it happen, so to speak. But he saw, you know before everything was cleaned up. Terrible. So sad. I would be heartbroken. Absolutely.”

  “Inconsolable,” said another.

  “Yes. That’s the perfect word, inconsolable. It makes you wonder, though.”

  “About what?”

  “You know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I tell you, though, it makes you stop, a tragedy like this, it makes you stop, and be grateful for what you have, you know?”

  “I know just what you mean. All of a sudden when mine has a tantrum, it’s not the end of the world you know? Though I have to say, since what happened, our boy really hasn’t been acting up. Not like his usual self” said the woman laughing; “We had netting up all along. With kids, would you really want to take that kind of risk?”

  “Do you think she’s evil? I saw this report and a psychiatrist said that the daughter, you know; that she had a kind of evil gene, like Hitler or Damien Omen or something. What do you think?”

  “I would have done the same thing to her if it was my children.”

  “You know she’s coming home don’t you? Back here. Can you believe that?”

  “Really? She should be locked up forever. What the hell is wrong with the world? And the parents? Just taking her home, as if nothing happened? Disgusting.”

  “I can’t help but think about the other children in the building you know? I don’t have kids myself but, what if she is evil, and she does it to another child? What if she does it to yours” said the woman looking at one of her neighbors.

  “Stop it” shouted Linda.

  She turned, her teeth bared, her hands still clamped to her breasts.

  “Stop. Just stop it. You nosy, stupid donkeys” she shouted. “It’s not nice. You shouldn’t be so…” she said pausing, her face like a ripe tomato. “You shouldn’t be so mean. You’re mean. And you’re stupid. “And,” she said, clenching her fists into tiny balls and shaking her body from side to side as if she were trying to squash an ant or as if she were dancing, out of pure spite. “You’re just mean and stupid is all. And I like my hair. It’s comfortable and it is pretty. It’s not what you think. You... You… You shouldn’t talk about other people. You just, you shouldn’t is all.”

  It was the type of outburst that deserved a slamming door or a middle finger and the squealing of tires. Linda turned back to the door, her heart beating a million times a second and her breath sounding like a bulldozer, coarse and heaving, as she exhaled heavily into the residue of ignorance that banked in the now awkward silence in the elevator.

  This all happened when the shiny green light was on the second floor. Linda though lived on the ninth. The others in the elevator, they were all from the eleventh, fourteenth and nineteenth floors and probably thinking they were so special too because of it.

  Linda hated elevators.

  When the third floor lit up green, Linda wished it would go faster.

  When the fourth floor lit up green, Linda took her keys in her left hand.

  When the fifth floor lit up green, Linda clenched the front door key and jingled the rest, breaking the silence and forgetting about her flickering thighs, her comfortable hair and how nobody had said a single thing, not a sound, not even a cough, not since the second floor.

  When the sixth floor lit up green, Linda took a deep breath and exhaled.

  When the seventh floor lit up green, Linda wished she hadn’t gotten her keys out so early, so she jiggled them once more as if she were trying to unclog them.

  When the eighth floor lit up green, Linda closed her eyes. She was next, finally.

  When the ninth floor it green, her heart was beating so fast.

  And when the doors opened, she turned and smiled and said, “Goodnight, see you soon.” />
  And so did everyone else.

  Linda shuffled out of the elevator still clutching her bags tight to her chest. It always took a second or two for the light to click on. There was a sensor on the wall, up high and hidden behind an ugly looking plant.

  As the doors closed behind her, Linda waited in the dark with all sorts of crazy thoughts spiraling in her head. She’d heard about people on the television who had been kidnapped right at their front doors and in each of the cases, it was always in a moment like this when the lights were not working properly and there was nobody else about.

  The light flicked on and then Linda looked to her left and to her right, almost as if she were crossing a street. As she rattled her keys on the door, no doubt scaring away any thieves or rapists that might have been hiding inside, she was startled, just a little, by sounds coming from the apartment beside her; 9C.

  She didn’t know the tenant who lived there. She had never met him before. She hadn’t even seen him around the building, but she knew his name, though. It was Evan. She knew this because he didn’t lock his Wi-Fi router and it meant she didn’t have to spend money on the internet herself.

  There was moaning coming from behind the door. Linda wanted to look away, to think of something else and on any other day she might have. She might have bit her lip as she pressed her shoulders to her ears before quickly scuttling inside her apartment, scampering as fast as she could for a control of any sort, anything to drown out the sound of muffled perversion.

  She might have.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, Linda leaned down quietly to rest her bags on the ground, quiet so that they didn’t ruffle and let anyone know what she was doing. She wasn’t spying. No, she was just reaching for the piece of paper that was on the ground near her neighbor’s door, that’s all.

  Linda pressed her ear against the door. It sounded like someone was having sex. And not just one or two people either, it sounded like maybe four or five or maybe even six. There were a lot of voices and though they were low and muffled, Linda could just make out some of the things they were shouting and screaming and begging for, at least it sounded like begging.

  Linda had no idea what they were saying.

  And there was a smell of gas from the cracks in the door.

  She looked around nervously, holding the piece of paper in her shaking hands low to the ground so that if anyone did come out, she could stand up quickly and pretend it had just happened. Her knees shook, as she listened. And it was not from the suspense. Her mouth dried and a shiver ran through her when she heard what sounded like men and women, purging in orgasmic shouting and squealing, and it shook her, right to her knees.

  She had no idea what they were doing.

  And the smell of gas, it was making her queasy.

  She felt that there were probably a hundred eyes on her, spying on her, spying on her neighbor; probably from a hidden camera. What would they think of her if she got caught? Immediately she tightened up and crunched the paper in her hands and gathered from the floor, her pile pf plastic bags, and headed into her apartment, peering back into the dark hallway as she slowly closed the door to make sure there was nobody hiding behind the ugly plants who might have been following her and who would come out, once she was gone.

  When she entered her apartment she saw it, a letter addressed to her and it was lying on her mat as if someone had pushed it under the door. Normally letters were left in her mailbox in the basement but someone had delivered it, whoever they were. She took the letter and placed it on the table beside her notebook and just as she was about to carefully peel it open, the intercom rang.

  “Good evening,” she said, regally.

  “Good night Madame. You’ll be knowing that the swimming teacher is here. Do you want I should let him up?” asked The Porter.

  Linda cringed as he spoke.

  “Let him in. I’ll be down in a minute. Tell him to wait.”

  The Porter said something, trying to be polite but Linda had already taken the receiver away from her ear and didn’t hear him. It wouldn’t have been anything important anyway and would no doubt have been said quite poorly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just his kind, where he came from and because of it, how he spoke.

  It bothered Linda.

  But she wasn’t racist or anything.

  In her room, Linda slowly unpacked her plastic bags. She was so happy with the things she had bought and she couldn’t wait to unwrap them. She was always this way with new things. Her most favorite time when she was a girl was before opening her presents when they were laid out on her bed and she could line them up and count them all one by one and then try to pick them all up in her arms at once. She could never hold them all, though. One would always fall onto the bed or worse yet, onto the floor.

  She always loved, though, the moment before opening a present, imagining what it could be. It was always so much more fun than tearing off the package and having to put on that stupid smile and trying her hardest not to cry when she saw what it really was. When it was never anything like she had imagined.

  And worse than getting a stupid present was having to say thank you like she meant it, even though, looking at the presents, she could tell how little anyone actually cared.

  Seeing presents side by side was definitely the best part.

  She rested the bags on the bed, one beside the other, just like she did when she was a girl. They looked neat and puffed out, filled with surprises. She imagined that in one, there was a new swim suit. It was a one-piece and it was made by that famous company that made all the swimsuits for the people who won gold medals at the Olympics. And it was the color green.

  Green was her favorite color.

  Just as she was about to imagine what was in the other plastic bags, the intercom rang again. She jumped in shock as if someone had tapped her shoulder in the scariest part of a movie. And she reacted how she always reacted when someone did something like that, in anger. She squeezed her fists into tight balls and stared at the other two plastic bags. She wanted so much to imagine what was inside them but that idiot porter was calling her nonstop and she couldn’t concentrate, not with that stupid buzzing.

  “Calm down” she screamed into the receiver, “I’m coming. Wait your turn” she shouted, slamming the receiver back onto its stand.

  She went back into her room and stared at the two remaining bags on the bed. She wanted so much to imagine. It was no use, though. Her mood had been ruined by that stupid idiot and her stupid swimming teacher. He probably told the porter to tell her to hurry up or something.

  Stupid donkey.

  She took the first bag and opened it slowly with her fingers, trying to creep it open and see if it was what she thought it was.

  “Please be a swimsuit,” she said out loud, closing her eyes tightly with an anxious smile, like the onset of tetanus, wrenching her face into some kind of a deranged grimace.

  She peeled back the bag and pulled something smooth out. It was a kind of fabric that slipped between her fingers, just like the good swimsuits did, the ones made by the best companies. She hoped it was a swimsuit.

  She said so, out loud.

  “I hope it’s a swimsuit,” she said, now crossing her fingers on her right hand.

  It was lucky, to cross her fingers only on her right hand. If she did both hands, one would cancel the other out. Most people thought that it would make double luck. It didn’t though. It was the same rule for if she had them behind her back. Most people didn’t know that, though. That’s why most people had such horrible luck. They were always doing it the wrong way.

  Linda opened her eyes and she screamed.

  “Oh my god, it’s a swimsuit” she shrieked, just like a little girl. “It is, it is, it is. I can’t believe it is” she shouted, jumping up and down on the spot and clenching her brand new swimsuit in her hands, stretching it like a balloon, until it felt like it would explode in two pieces and then when it was about to, letting it snap ba
ck into place.

  And it was just like she hoped it would be. And it was really nice too, and probably really fast. And it had lines along the side that stuck out. And it had grooves on it that stuck out too and would make her swim really fast, just like a dolphin or a shark or even a boat.

  Linda imagined herself swimming alongside a boat, maybe the English Channel, wherever that was. And in her thoughts, the boat tailing alongside her had scores of photographers and fans and people who ran websites and news journalists and even her mum, but she was probably in the back of the boat, making a scene with the captain because she thought it was going to be catered and because of that, she didn’t eat.

  And her coach yelled out “Go Linda go!”

  And then everyone joined in.

  And they were all shouting, “Go, Linda, you can do it. You’re the best, you’re number one.”

  And she knew it; that she was the best that is. But it was nice to hear it.

  On she powered, through the heady wake and freezing water.

  On she powered, stroke after stroke, her arms like Viking oars.

  On she powered, under a reign of stars and a glowing crescent moon.

  And with salt stinging her eyes, she powered on, with millions of people, all chanting her name. And they all started clapping really loud, to the rhythm of her every stroke. And her coach shouted, “I love you” and he was handsome, like George Clooney, in that movie he was in. And then someone yelled “Shark” but all Linda could hear was her mother, making the captain turn the boat around, so she could pick up some sandwiches.

  Linda stood in front of the mirror, holding her new swimsuit. She was so anxious to put it on. She quickly undressed, almost ravaging and tearing off every button. She wasn’t normally like this, not in the slightest. She always looked after everything that she had ever owned and she was always really careful not to put a scuff mark on the floor or a coffee ring on the table or to leave the lid off the toothpaste so that it dried and clogged up or even to be in such a stupid rush to take off her clothes that she ended up breaking a button or making a thread come loose.

  Today was different.

  Today was her birthday.

  Linda stood naked in front of the mirror and tilting her head from side to side, looking at the rolls of fat on her belly that hanged over her hips like the delicious frosting on her favorite cake. She’d lost a lot of weight since starting Pilates and running, in fact, probably a bit too much weight. That’s why she had to drink protein whenever she worked out because if she trained any harder, she would probably just disappear.

  Still, as thin as she made herself out to be, she couldn’t take her eyes of a tiny fold by her hips. It was probably from the chocolate she had today at the clinic. She brought in a cake so the other dentists, they could sing her happy birthday and celebrate with her.

  It was really busy today though at the clinic. Even though everyone wanted to go, nobody had the time. It was always like that. So Linda blew out her candle and ate her cake by herself. And now she was looking at the faint but noticeable folds of skin on her hips and she knew straight away that it was definitely from the cake. It was delicious, though. 80% cocoa.

  The intercom rang again

  “Oh fuck you donkey” she screamed, naked and admiring.