The Wall Between

A clear, metallic ding rang as the elevator hit the eighteenth floor of the apartment building. Clarke pushed herself off the mirrored wall, nodding her head as Piper rambled off about her psychology teacher. Clarke’s short brown hair was kept out of her face with a headband, making her look much younger than twenty-two. She wasn’t the shortest person in the world, but standing next to Piper made Clarke look smaller, somehow.

Piper was about four inches taller than Clarke, with hair the color of sunlight and a personality just as bright. The pair had been friends since grade school, Piper the sunlight and the sky, Clarke the wind and the sea. They weren’t exactly opposites, but they filled different parts of the spectrum.

“How were you supposed to know that it didn’t submit if he jus graded it?” Clarke grumbled, shifting the huge box of groceries in her arms to fish out the keys in her pocket. Piper held another box of groceries, lending a hand to restock Clarke’s apartment. “She could at least give you half credit. It’s better than a zero.”

“Because she’s an evil bitch with frizzy hair, bad teeth and shitty hand writing.” Clarke gave Piper a flat look as they approached apartment number forty-seven. “Okay so maybe that’s unfair, but still.”

As the two girls approached the pink colored door, number forty-nine and closest to the elevator, ripped open. Clarke started slightly as a beautiful girl tumbling out of the door. She had long legs that Clarke would absolutely die for and the kind of red hair that only came naturally. Freckles sprinkled the girls face like cinnamon and her bubblegum pink lips smiled playfully at the owner of the apartment as he leaned on the door in a t-shirt and athletic shorts, hand on her waist.

Clarke’s neighbor leaned forward, catching the fiery redheads lips with his own. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him back with a ferocity that made Clarke blink in surprise. Piper was watching too, both of them transfixed by the scene as the girl finally pulled away, grinning at the boy.

“Call me.” The girl said it like a warning and Clarke’s neighbor simply grinned as the redhead spun, looking at Clarke and Piper. She smiled, pointing at Clarke’s shirt. “I love your shirt!”

Clarke glanced down. “Oh, thank you. Alexander McQueen, it’s old.”

“Huh. It’s great on your skin tone. Bye!”

Still surprised by the girl, Clarke watched her leave, pressing the elevator button. She had pep in her step, not like many other girls who stumbled out of number forty-nine. With one more feisty grin at the boy, the girl stepped into the elevator, vanishing beyond metal doors. The numbers above the elevator began counting down.

“Forty-seven,” Clarke’s neighbor greeted with his raspy voice, nodding his head in their direction. He was tall, much taller than Clarke. Tattoos wound down both of his arms, so intricate and inky that Clarke got lost in looking at them in the fleeting moments she saw her neighbor. He had stubble on his chin and jaw, his brown hair unruly and freshly slept in. Or slept with. “Forty-seven’s friend.”

Clarke tipped her head in his direction, felling heat creep up her neck. She shoved the keys in the lock, twisting it and popping open the door with her hip. “Morning, forty-nine.”

That was how it always went. They never exchanged names. Clarke knew his name was Tyler Seguin and that he played for the Dallas Stars. But she was pretty sure that Tyler Seguin did not know that she was Clarke Beaumont, college student and no one of particular importance. He knew her as forty-seven, the neighbor who occasionally asked for sugar if she absolutely had no time to get any, and Clarke new him as the neighbor who constantly ruined her study sessions with sexual noises and a headboard that had to be broken.

Inside of the spacious apartment and with the door closed behind her, Clarke heard the oncoming bus that was her dog. The yellow lab came wheeling around the corner, nails clacking against the wooden floor and exciting panting filling the apartment.

“Dixie, sit.” The dog did immediately, wagging her powerful tail so hard that her whole butt was moving. Piper gushed over the dog, bending down and placing numerous kisses on the sweet animals head. Dixie gave Piper a generous lick in response. “Good girl.”

As Clarke passed, the dog followed, her shoulder nearly connected to Clarke’s leg. Clarke always made sure that the large dog didn’t jump on her guests, not wanting anyone to suffer from severe licking and probably being knocked out by Dixie’s big head. “I think it’s really weird that you and what’s his name don’t talk,” Piper said, shaking her head and raising her brows. She put the box on the white countertop of Clarke’s bar. “Not only is he astoundingly beautiful, but he’s an athlete.”

“You don’t watch hockey.”

“Neither do you.”

“Exactly, so why should I care?”

Piper opened her mouth and closed it again before dispelling the conversation with a quick shake of her head. She was grabbing things out of the bags and box, placing them on the countertop. “Whatever, the point is, have you told him you can’t study with his gorilla-sex he has every night?”

“It isn’t every night.” Clarke opened up cabinets. It was close to every night though. It was worse on the weekends, naturally. Sometimes Clarke got long periods of time where he wasn’t home at all, traveling with his team on the road. Those were Clarke’s favorite weeks because she didn’t have to worry about her pictures falling off the wall and into her face because her neighbor apparently had the scrotum of a god. “And it isn’t my business.”

“Wish it was mine,” Piper muttered. Clarke gave her a hard look and threw a loaf of bread at Piper, hitting her in the chest. Piper made a sound of disbelief. “What? It isn’t my fault that a Greek God lives next to you. I’m allowed to say he’s hot.”

“Just promise I’m not going to find you walking out of there one day- or even worse, hear you destroying the wall between our apartments.”

Piper raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear I will not sleep with your neighbor.”

“Thank you."

“In his house. Or if you’re home, or-"

“Pipes.”

“Fine.”



“Fuck you, little sister,” Collin groaned, covering his eyes with his hands as Clarke yelled at the TV, thrusting her beer in the air. Her arms were covered in a Steelers sweatshirt, legs bare in shorts and socks covered in matching socks, propped on the coffee table. “Why have I been blessed with a disgrace?”

“Blame mom,” Clarke grinned, watching as the Steelers put another touchdown over the Cowboys. Her brother was sitting next to her, hulking frame filled with regret as he watched his team end the third quarter fourteen points behind. “It isn’t my fault she was raised in Pittsburgh and I’m the only one who supports her noble birth.”

“You being the only one is a sign.”

“A sign that I’m right and you’re wrong.”

Every Monday night, Collin came over to Clarke’s for football. It didn’t matter who was playing or what time, it was a tradition that they kept to, like a blood ritual. The middle child of the three Beaumont’s, Camille tried to make it when she could get way from her home life, filled with a two year-old boy and a loving husband who Clarke adored.

The Beaumont’s were generally a family based on football. On one end of the spectrum was Elizabeth and Clarke, both avid supporters of the Pittsburgh Steelers because Arlene was born and raised in Pittsburgh until she met Clarke’s father at Texas A&M. On the other side of the spectrum stood Charlie Beaumont, head of the five-member family with Collin and Camille on his side supporting the Dallas Cowboys. A house divided was a house divine, as Clarke’s mother said often in times of rivalry.

Polishing off a Budlight, Clarke walked to the kitchen, tossing it in the recycling and grabbing another one from the fridge. “Beer?” She called as she grabbed an opener. Her brother gave her a thumbs up, finishing is beer and setting it on the table. “Bud or Kalik?”

“Kalik? Fancy.”

“I save it for special guests. Like myself and oh yeah, myself.”

He took the beer from her with a grin as she sat back down. “You better keep this apartment to yourself,” he warned, taking a swig of the beer, making a satisfied sound. “No boys need to be in here. Ever. Nope.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I am a man who has done man things and I don’t want any men in here. Like ever. You aren’t allowed to date, in fact, I’m calling dad.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, glancing at her brother. Sometimes she thought it was weird how similar they looked. Though his eyes were a shade greener than hers, they had the same features; round faces, sandy brown hair and almond shaped eyes. He was seven years older than her but there was a youthfulness to his face that still existed in Clarke’s.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that right?”

“What’s ridiculous is your team is about to lose in this fourth quarter. You’re paying me, little sister.”

“Whatever you say, big brother.”