Neighborhood

    I wake up and find myself listening to the married couple in the adjacent house rather than the radio channels I routinely pay for. After I’m ready for work and headed to my 2006 Kia Sportage, I pass a man in his 60s working on an old pickup truck that’s beaten beyond recognition. The occasional revving never leaves my ears, even when I’m miles away. As the sun sets, and I pull into the driveway of a place I can never call home; I see the man once again, I hear the couple once again, and I’m quickly reminded of my poverty. I open the fridge, hoping for a miracle, only to be disappointed. I get ready for bed, almost excited for the new songs that await me. Who drives Timmy to school. Or maybe, who’s buying next week's groceries. Better yet, who gets to sleep with the baby. Eventually, things quiet down, and I find myself enclosing the space between my ear and the wall. Listening to the muffles beyond the cement. I nearly fall on my neck before coming to a realization. What the hell am I doing? I once dreamed of becoming a famous biologist; residing in one of my many mansions, with models in every corner of the room. But here I am, listening to my neighbors argue about things that have nothing to do with my betterment. I feel this sudden flush of adrenaline. I slam what little bit of books I had on my shelf. I laugh. A laugh of complete fury. A laugh of disbelief. I scatter around my house, leaving bits of my sanity to be smashed like the rest of my furniture. I get a couple of knocks at my door. “What’re you doing in there?”, “are you okay?”. I laugh a bit more before stopping to observe my masterpiece. Everything, out of order and destroyed. I’m sick of this routine. I’m sick of this house. “I’m sick!” I recall everything going black after my habitual tantrum. I wake to the sound of my 6:30 alarm and head to the bathroom while listening to my music. After a few silent moments my brain awakes, and I spot a body laying in the living room. I approach him, not phased to have a complete stranger in my house. I notice he’s wearing my clothes and shoes. I notice the furniture, in place and steady. Confused, as I supposedly destroyed everything in the house, I inspect the body once again. That’s no stranger. I begin to hear the faint sound of the old man revving his truck, and the music plays once again. My body, dazed by the sounds. I head out to work, come home at sunset, press my ear against the wall, almost fall in the exact position that ‘stranger’ is in, and pass out on the floor. Only to wake up to my 6:30 alarm.