Two Hundred and Thirty

The relentless sun pulsated over me, scolding my fair skin as I lugged the numerous art folders from my car. The concrete beneath my feet was crying out for some form of relief from the scorching heat that caused it’s foundations to crack. Sometimes it seemed dead out here, like everyone was in fear of combusting so hid in their homes. And honestly, I often wondered myself if there was any chance my hair would set on fire due to the sun being so close to me.

This car park seemed far larger that day, somewhat of a trek. The plastic of the folders trailed behind me, dragging along the gravel, following my tired heels. Eventually, I reached the lobby of my apartment complex being overly grateful for the blast of cold air that hit and sunk into my skin. But my relief was only brief as I found myself between the two staircases that invited me on the outrageous climb to my apartment. I took the flight to my right, one step after the other until my calves were screaming for a break by the time I reached the fourth floor.

I leaned against the door to the place I called home and blew the damp hair out of my face. I propped my folders under my arms and between my legs as I rummaged around in my purse for the keys, the sweat on the back of my neck growing warmer the longer I took. After finally finding them, I couldn’t get the key in the door fast enough; I practically tumbled through the door way in a complication of limbs and folders.

Bright, white light exploded through the balcony doors and the windows either side. It even snuck its way through the blinds that shielded the window above the kitchen sink. I often found myself locking it out, shutting up the curtains so I could watch tv in peace, but I always felt ridiculous. Like the world outside was nagging at me to get out.

I kept everything simple and nothing really matched decor wise. A three piece couch that was cream fabric, a tattered red love seat and a disheveled wicker arm chair all huddled round an old dark wood coffee table that I’d got at a yard sale. When I moved in here, the patterned rug that lay underneath it all was already there, so I left it. And then my simple, thick glass tv plonked itself in the corner. I didn’t need anything else. This place was mine.

Without any consideration that I’d spent the last two years on the work inside, I launched the folders onto the couch and darted straight for the balcony doors, being careful that I didn’t step directly in-front of them. Like a creep on a mission, I crouched low to the floor, crawling my way over to the wall beside the doors. I pushed my back up against the refreshingly cool wall and slowly reached my hand up to the handle. I popped the door open ever so slightly, so small of a gap that you wouldn’t even know it was open at first glance. Pushing my weight back against the wall, I stared around my humble apartment, finally being at peace.

I concentrated on slowing my breathing in an attempt to silence it. Then I waited and waited and waited, held my breath a little more until then I heard it.

The most delicate chords ever to be played to my ears. The faintest hum of a voice, a voice perfectly balanced between husky and sweet. This was what made these walls seem so welcoming. A neighbour; playing their music on their balcony every day without fail.

It was soothing. It made the swelling in my head bleed into the air around me, leading me to forget the pain of the day just gone by. Something familiar and calming came along with this music, something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put my finger on.

This neighbour of mine didn’t understand how much I appreciated his choice in location for playing his music. I don’t even think he knew anyone was listening. But some days it was exactly what I needed. Kind of like a favourite tv show that you look forward to each week because it does something for you that you cannot explain, you just like it.

When I first moved here, I opened my windows and found it charming whenever the chimes of his guitar and mumbles of his voice would flow in through the air. It was casual, like the birds chirping on a summer’s day; something nice. But these days I found myself waiting on him.
Imagine that… relying on daily bird song to get you through each-day.

But despite my fondness, I didn’t know this man, nor had I ever tried to. I felt like I didn’t need to. I didn’t care for him; I just enjoyed his music and would buy his CD if he had one. Even though sometimes I’d be sat on my balcony and he on his, we never exchanged glances… hell I didn’t even look up. Two complete strangers.

I often contemplated flashing him a smile or saying “hello” or even looking at his face… but I always backed myself out of it. It was as if I’d invaded his privacy by listening to his songs…

God knows how long I was sat on my hardwood floor, propped up against the wall. Sometimes I’d find it to be hours and sometimes just a few minutes, all depending on what my neighbour felt that day.
When I was sure he’d stopped, I brought myself to my feet and stumbled into the kitchen (which was more like a step away, seen as my living room and kitchen are inside the same four walls). I stood limply in-front of the calendar that was pinned to my fridge by a magnet from Italy and flipped it over to the start of a new month.

I quickly scribbled in the notes section like I did at the start of every month:
32 days til home.

My count down was getting smaller but seemed to take longer.

See, I’d moved from England to study art at ASU. And well, I couldn’t wait to get home.
I plonked myself down at the breakfast table that sat in the centre of my kitchen and slid my book over towards me from the other end of the table where I’d left it. But just as I found the page I’d dog eared, an ugly vibration shook me from my back pocket.

“How’d it go?” Lucy shot at me the second I put the phone to my ear.

“It went okay. He said he wished I didn’t have to take it all down but- whatever” I sighed, closing my book.

“He was totally hinting for you to let him keep some of it”

“Yeah well” I laughed.

“Or… back to my theory of him having an eye for you-“ She sang.

“Lucy!” I scolded her “Will you stop with that, he’s my teacher and he likes my work- that’s all, you pain in the back end!”

“Come on, he’s like what?-30? It’s not a crime”

“That’s a whole eight years” I laughed.

“Yeah, and what? My parents had seven years between them”

“Yeah but your parents are divorced” I added.

“Fair point. But whatever, he’s hot. I’m not saying you have to marry him, it’s just that you’re leaving in like a month, so enjoy yourself!”

“By hooking up with my art teacher?” I laughed again.

“Possibly” She chuckled.

We both erupted in laughter.

“You’re such an idiot” I breathed out halfway through a laugh.

“Why are you leaving me Rae?” All laughter had drained from her.

“Lucy- don’t” I battled the words past my lips. I didn’t want this conversation again.

There was a deafening silence.

“Whatever” She chirped “I guess it’s a good thing because then I can get my claws into all those British boys when I come visit you”

“I’ll be sure to warn every single one of them” I pushed out a laugh, but really I was relieved that she was taking it so lightly.

Lucy was the only person in this entire state to take any interest in me other than to get in my pants. Everybody loved Lucy Hardman. And for some reason, she chose to befriend me. I remember my first day- new country, new home, new life. I knew not a soul for at least 5000miles. Yet she introduced herself. And I’m glad.

“That’s right” I could imagine her nodding to herself on the other end of the phone “But anyway, there’s this party tonight-“

“No. Luce. I’m not going to another party swamped with assholes from the football and cheer teams. I refuse”

“Hold up. Listen to me!” She laughed “We won’t know anyone there! I ran into this guy called Jordan at Wal-Mart, I used to take a Spanish class with him back in highschool. He just invited me and told me to bring my friends”

“I dunno” I whined.

“Come on! All his friends were losers, I remember. No jocks or cheerleaders, no one from ASU, I promise, pleaseeee” She sounded like such a child.

“Ugh, alright fine. But only because I want you to shut up”

“That’ll do for me!” She chirped “I’ll pick you up at 8! Think hot, not cute, you’re enjoying yourself remember”

And then before I could reply she’d hung up.

If I were going to miss anything at all from this place, it would be her and the beauty of everything over here. But apart from that, that flight couldn’t get here fast enough.