Member-only story
The Week Before Christmas
An ode to the neighbor upstairs
It was the week before Christmas and all through the flat, the AC unit was busted, and central air was scant. The shot glasses sat sticky on the shelf with care, so that the cat couldn’t knock them onto the rug with hair. I was scrubbing out an egg pan when there arose a loud foot patter, from outside the door, I had to go see the matter. I answered the door and there she stood, in yoga pants and a hood. Her Ugg boots were muddied with sludge and ice.
“May I have some flour?” She asked in a voice so nice.
I said not a problem, it is Christmas after all. Perhaps it was cookies she wanted to bake. I lead her inside and searched in the cupboard, finding the bag sitting beside the sugar.
“Be sure to return by tomorrow.” I handed her the bag. And as she turned on her heel, she stopped. I heard her say, in a voice, something almost unreal.
“Not this flour for heaven’s sake. It is not cookies I’m trying to make.”
“Is it a cake?” I asked.
“No!” She stomped her foot. There was something about this girl I could not shake. Was it her reddened eyes? Or perhaps her nervous twitch? Or perhaps, maybe, it was the way she bitched.
“Did you not want flour?” I further inquired.
“Yes. Perhaps you keep the good stuff on a shelf much higher.” She touched a finger to her nose and gave a snort. I offered her a Kleenex which she declined as her temper grew short.
“Is there another way I can offer support?”
“Never mind,” She let out a huff. She stomped out the door without my bag of fluff.
With a shrug, I closed the door and fetched the candle snuff. Once the lights were out, the tree trimmed and a fire lit, I slipped on my robe and settled in. Bringing my cup of tea to my lips, I realized something was amiss. As I noticed the bottle of cheer on the counter, I rose to grab it. Taking a few steps, I recoiled as I felt it. Looking down, the cat had left a fresh pile of . . . .
“Shit!” My shouts echoed from the rooftops and beyond. This concludes my ode to the neighbor upstairs. I must end this tale somewhere before there slips, another swear word from my lips.
