Behind Closed Doors

I opened my eyes, utter darkness. I blinked, open, shut, open, but nothing changed. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was. My senses overlapped like I was seeing noises or hearing sneers, fists, chaos. I clutched the sides of the bed to anchor myself. Though it felt that the walls around me and the mattress beneath me were shaking, I knew that it was just my utterly shaken body.

I attempted to take a deep breath while pricking my ears. There was a woman’s desperate muffled pleas, a baby screaming its lungs into smithereens and the smashing of what sounded like armfuls of china. The roaring sounded more like that of a mythical minotaur than that of a human being, and it made the blood freeze in my veins.

What on EARTH, Mr. Andrej!  My thoughts screamed as I pulled the cover over my head and fought back tears of frustration.

Every other night in the past two weeks since I moved into the building, this was how I spent my nights, curled into a ball trying to fall asleep despite the insane skirmishes overhead. 

“Talk about buyer’s remorse,” I said to my mother during our morning phone call.

“Well, Lily,” she countered, “I hate to say it…”

“Oh, mom, please! Don’t say I…”

“Told you so? But I did tell you so, that’s one rough neighborhood you’ve decided to move into!”

“Well, that’s all my beginner salary can afford to get me at the moment!”

“I know, sweetie, I just wish the police would take your phone calls seriously. It can’t be healthy for you going to work on three or four hours of sleep!”

“Or less… but I’ve ordered a pair of noise-cancelling earbuds, and I really hope they do the trick.”

My mom hung up to go get ready for work, so I sat in silence on the subway. The feathery wings of sleep tantalized my heavy eyelids, promising them a delicious few winks. I fought it because I worried I might miss my stop and be late for work, but it won.

I must’ve dozed off for a few minutes when the conductor’s coarse voice mumbled the next stop into the overhead loudspeakers and the doors burst open, letting in a gust of cold underground wind and a burst of weary commuters. I jolted awake, drool dripping down the side of my chin and my heart raced like a startled steed. I had been dreaming about a mountain of glistening glass shards, shaking and towering over a miniature me, threatening to drown me in my own blood while a million women of different shapes and sizes, wailing like unconsolable, cavern-mouthed infants, closed in on me.

I got off the subway still shaking. It hit me as I climbed the stairs and into the sunlight that up until then, I’d only been concerned with my sleep deprivation, my frustration over the unfairness of my suffering, but what about the poor woman and child? Children? What kind of terror were they enduring?

The day I moved into this apartment, I’d watched my mom squeeze her little Honda in between a fire hydrant and a pile of trash. She tried to hide her disapproval of the whole situation with a good-natured smile, which I appreciated because I was too tired from carrying so many boxes up the stairs and in no mood to defend my decision to move out all over again.

As I helped her carry the plants she got me to “brighten up my bleak living room”, she nodded quietly toward a battered-looking man entering the building. He was a tall man with a back slightly hunched around the shoulders and steely blue eyes. He held the door for us without quite meeting our eyes.

Mom mouthed something to me as he let go of the door behind us and checked his mailbox. The mailbox read “Maxim & Tatjana Andrej”. As he locked his mailbox, he nodded at us and slowly shuffled up the stairs to his apartment balancing a bag of groceries and an air of resigned anger.

“What?” I whispered when we got into my place.

“That neighbor of yours, Lily! This Andrej guy,” she whispered sadly, “He’s a drinker!”

“At this time of day?” I feigned interest.

“Oh, Lily, when will you start noticing your surroundings?” she shook her head as she gently kicked the door shut and placed the plants on the kitchen counter.

“I’m happy to just be left alone,” I shrugged, “why would I observe or even notice people?”

“Well, it is kind of a survival instinct to be aware of your surroundings,” she raised an eyebrow while filling up a plastic water bottle, “you know back when we lived in caves…”

“Mom, this is a modernized building in the middle of a western city. I don’t need to activate my survival instincts!”

Thinking about it while I stared at my laptop at work, though, I wished I had somehow noticed or someone had told me there was going to be a loud drunk living somewhere above me so I would run as far away as I could from the goddamn building.

That day I walked to the building balancing my groceries on my knee as I fumbled to find my key. A tall man with a dark beard that gave a wise air beyond his years and metal-rimmed glasses that gave him a professional look happened to open the door from inside.

“Ah, thanks!” I said standing up straight and catching my groceries so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

“No worries!” he smiled, showing perfect teeth, “You must be our new neighbor!”

“That’s me! My name is Lily Evans,” I put my groceries down and offered him my hand.

He gave it a warm, firm shake and said, “I’m Dr. Daniels.”

“Oh! So this right here is your practice?” 

“Indeed!” he gave a short, professional laugh, “So any time your teeth are in need of repair…!”

“That’s wonderful! I was looking for doctors in the area!”

“Well, now you can cross dentist off your list!” he winked, still holding the door with one foot.

“Sounds good!” He must’ve been good because his waiting room was always full.

He stepped out the door, but before it slammed shut, he said, “Oh and I live here in the building too. You know, saves me the commute… so if you need anything…”

The heavy door closed behind him, but his overpowering sandalwood perfume lingered obscuring everything else.

Later, as I started chopping my vegetables, I propped my phone up in the spice cabinet and called my mom to tell her about my new neighbor.

“See? Even the dentist lives in the same building! I told you it’s an up and coming area!”

“OK, I’m relieved to know there are responsible people in that building. Not just drunk Andrej.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen Mr Andrej walk his children to school every morning now,” I said, sliding the carrots into to the pan, “and you’re right, he’s always swaying this way and that.”

“Argh, those poor kiddos!” my mum whispered.

“Yeah, they were very solemn, as if they were in their seventies, not under ten! But I must say, they hide the abuse very well. The girls’ hair is always combed back neatly and the little boy always holds his dad’s hand while trying to match his stride. They seem like good kids.”

“Ah, typical of heavy drinkers,” my mom said wistfully, “they are extra careful to look normal. The kids always feel like it’s their duty to protect the adults. Have you seen the poor wife?”

I thought about it for a few seconds, “Good question! I don’t think I’ve ever seen her.”

“To be honest with you, I don’t blame her,” my mom said sadly, “I’d be ashamed to show my face too. Victims of abuse often feel responsible for what happens to them.”  

My mom knew abuse all too well. Her father had been an angry drunk. If the stew wasn’t salted right, he threw it across the room, and if she and her brother fought over a toy, he smashed the toy under his shoe while they trembled in fear. She developed feelers for drunk men and empathy for their families.

That night after dinner, I put in my new noise-canceling earbuds and went to sleep. I breathed in the smell of newness in my now home. The faint smell of fresh paint, the treated wood, the polished linoleum. My floral comforter smelt of lavender and my white sage incense burned slowly, filling my lungs with promises of a calm night. The weak plume of white smoke swirled in the cool room like the ghost of a delighted genie.

At 1:30 a.m., however, the usual din broke out. I couldn’t quite make out what was being said or screamed. It all sounded like I was diving in a calm ocean while a thunderstorm ripped the sky above to shreds. There were bangs and there were screeches and there were imaginary cracks forming in the rumbling walls. I pulled my decorative pillow over my ears and at some point fell back asleep.

One sunny October Saturday morning, I woke up excited about the weekend. I’d been sleeping relatively well. Either my earbuds were very effective or I became desensitized to the nightly terror. Probably a bit of both.

Dr. Daniels was descending the stairs ahead of me as I skipped down the stairs, ready to meet my friends for brunch in town.

He turned on his heel and gave me a charming smile while he held the door open for me, “I see the young lady is ready to go enjoy the city on this fine Saturday?”

“Yes! It’s been a long week, hasn’t it!” I got out the door and he followed, letting the door slam shut.

“I agree, we’re off to hang out with our friends,” he said nodding towards his Audi where a heavily made up lady was waiting for him with a baby in her arms. She was staring at us.

I nodded at her, but she just looked away.

After brunch that day, I stopped at the supermarket near my place.

“Why hello, there!” A woman in her seventies or eighties approached me near the produce section.

“Hello…” I offered a tentative smile.

“Aren’t you our new neighbor in 3B?” she asked sweetly.

“Well, not that new anymore, I’ve been there almost two months now!” I said, “My name is Lily Evans. Pleased to meet you!”

“I’m sorry dear, we should’ve all come to introduce ourselves. I’m Donna Glynn,” she said leaning on her carved ebony cane. I had only seen those in movies.

“Oh no, I know everyone’s super busy with their lives!”

“Well, that and the lives of others sometimes!” Ms. Glynn chuckled adjusting her loose copper bun. I admired her honesty in admitting she was one of those old ladies who always kept watch on the neighbors.

She must’ve read the translation of that realization on my face. 

“Oh, no! It’s nothing like that!” she laughed, “I mean the other retirees and I have been taking turns looking after those poor kids. You know, babysitting, helping with homework… cooking! In fact I’m here today for some ground beef because I’m making their favorite Lasagna. Ah, they lap it up so good!” she laughed.

“I know, right,” I whispered, “with that family situation of theirs…”

“It’s heartbreaking, dear!” she looked at the groceries in the distance, “What happened to them is just tragic.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, with their mother passing an’ all!” she shook her head gravely, “You know what that does to a family. She was such a beautiful, smart woman. So young too! I guess cancer knows no age these days.”

I was confused. Then who was the woman screaming every night?

Not registering the puzzlement on my face, Ms. Glynn continued, “Sometimes I wonder who I feel worse for. The poor bereaved kids who watched their mother slowly wither away like a rose on a shelf or Mr. Andrej who loved his wife more than anything. D’you know? We used to love watching them steal kisses and hold hands whenever they walked up and down the stairs.”

She had a tear in her eye.

“Oh, so I guess the loss has made him abusive…?” I was perplexed.

“I mean he has been drinking a little to cope with the loss and the sudden weight on his shoulders, but abusive?” she frowned, “Mr. Andrej? Never! He’s the gentlest soul you could ever meet! You know he nursed his wife in her worst days, refusing to rest or do anything except take the kids to school. Five months it has been… and he’s still reeling.

We all wrote a petition to his employer at the construction company pleading with him not to fire him! Luckily, he still has a job to support his kids with. Gosh, could you imagine wh…”

“But all that screaming and smashing and…” I had to interrupt her.

“Ohhhh! That!” She wrinkled her nose in disgust, “That, my dear, would be Dr. Daniels.”

“What?” The gentlemanly dentist with lines of patients all the way to the pavement?

“Well, I do pray for him,” she said unconvincingly, “But that’s a beast only he can fight. I just feel for his poor wife and baby.”