The life of another

In the dawn light he is golden. Gooseflesh rises to a shudder that makes the painful spots flinch and the black eye wince. He is gaunt, his stomach sucked in under his ribs away from the morning cold. His knuckles grip the balcony railing, turn whitish pink and let go. He adjusts his boxers, grants himself the fleeting glance of life five storeys below, splattered out on the pavement and dispenses with those thoughts and feelings.  

A man, his husband, steps out onto the balcony behind him. Robed up but wearing nothing underneath, he says something, maybe “coffee?” 

Nothing.

Again, but louder this time, “Harry, coffee?” 

His hand hesitates, rising and falling. It reaches out, trembling and touches his beloved’s back. The muscles on Harry’s naked back tense and knot into twisted works of art. He murmurs something inaudible. The hand retracts, the husband retreats and he is on the balcony alone once more.  

A brick partition separates one apartment balcony from the next. It is covered in a concrete render finish and rises to the height of the railing. Where the partition meets the railing, it rises diagonally to the ceiling exposing a small peek into the lives of others lived next door. 

The neighbor sits on his balcony at a dilapidated, cast iron patio table. After Harry grows dull in the golden light he looks away and looks to the news. Aged, nimble fingers swipe right from article to article on the newspaper app. 

Covid, covid, covid… 

Stay at home, Work from home, Die in home…

For the third time he accidentally returns to the iPad home screen and curses technology, Steve Jobs, Tim Cook and the nephew who bought the contraption for him. 

That sound? Harry looks across the rendered partition. The neighbor is dishevelled in his chequered pyjamas. Thin wisps of grey hair take flight in the morning breeze and settle in a mess on his flaky scalp. How long has he been sitting there watching?

Harry doesn’t look away. Save his underwear he is naked in front of this old man.

The neighbor feels the uneasy sensation of being watched as he had just been watching Harry. He looks up and meets his neighbor’s stare. His eyes are blue but the colouring that surrounds Harry’s eyes is vivid and disturbing. Violet fades to olive fades to maroon fades to blue. Yet they call it a black eye.

“Good morning neighbor” Harry says. 

“Good morning neighbor” the neighbor replies. 

Through thin plaster walls the neighbor has heard it all – the full spectrum of lives lived together, whilst he lives alone. At night as he lies in bed wide awake, his gaze pinned to a patch of mould on the ceiling, he listens to the grumbles, the crashes and the shouting.

Throughout the day, confined to their limited shared spaces small things build and fester. A disagreement turns into a fit of anger. In the evening voices rise to a crescendo. Something like furniture is overturned and glass shatters against a wall.  

On other nights there is shouts and then sharp silence. 

On other nights bitter acrimony turns to angry intercourse, bodies slammed against each other, against walls and mattresses with yelps and screams of pleasure shaking the walls they share with their neighbor. 

For all the sounds he hears, the neighbor draws a sketch of these people together, how they live, how they feel, what they yearn for and the like but their remains a permanent, conspicuous absence. He listens for it, yearns for it himself but not once does he hear the sound of happiness.  

Bodies watch bodies. The sun brightens but doesn’t warm the space between them. Their mutual stillness turns to a prickling, mutual discomfort. The guy’s probably a crotchety old homophobe. But don’t want a repeat of last time.

“Sorry bout last night” Harry says. He is still thinking about the night before and in his physical nakedness he is sure that his thoughts are exposed too. 

The neighbor continues to stare. His mouth forms into an ovular hole and his chapped lips pucker prepared for speech but his voice catches in his throat and he finds himself speechless. 

“It’s…it’s well it’s my husband. And me. We’ve got some issues and this whole stay at home, work from home thing. Well it’s not exactly suited to us given where we’re at in our whole relationship.” 

Harry looks inside. Whatever he sees makes his shoulders relax. Perhaps it is the sight of nothing or no one watching. His voice lowers and he leans forward, the space between them barely narrowing. 

“I know it was you who called the police the other week” he continues. “Obviously don’t want a repeat of that but no hard feelings. But also if we’re getting too loud just knock on the wall or give us a call. Have you got our number? Doesn’t matter if you don’t I’ll give you my mobile or our landline…hmm no maybe it’d be best if you just call my mobile or text me or something and I’ll do my best to cut the noise out. No promises but I’ll try. It’s just Will, that’s my husband, Will, sometimes he has these moments and it’s hard to bring him down from them. 

“I know how I must look to you. The poor battered wife. Why can’t the gays sort their shit out ya know? It’s hard ya know? We can have bad relationships too. It can be toxic too. To be a man but also to be the battered wife? It’s tough. And you feel emotionally trapped and now I’m physically trapped. Cause I can’t go anywhere. Can’t escape. Can’t risk giving vulnerable people like yourself coronavirus…not that I have it. I guess I could. Might be asymptomatic but no reason why I should have it. Geeze what am I saying? I’m just going on and on and none of this probably makes any sense to you. I can’t believe I’m burdening a complete stranger with this. I’m sorry.” 

Harry is all the more naked now. Lips curl into an expression. Wrinkled cheeks sound the words. The neighbor says something in reply. His voice is muted but sincere. His expression is soft through withered features. The words make Harry’s eyes water and his shoulders tremble. He bites his lower lip and nods to himself in agreement, burying his chin in his chest. 

The neighbor repeats himself once more but with added emphasis. “You deserve better.”