The Life Above My Head

When someone lives in the apartment above you, you hear a lot of footsteps. The lighter footsteps of a woman. The heavier ones of a man. The tails of dogs hitting against the wall in happiness. These are the sounds I hear from above every day. I don't hear voices (unless they are raised in anger). I don't hear barking. I don't hear the TV. Just footsteps creaking. Oh, and the springs of the mattress just above my head at night when my neighbors go to sleep or when they wake early to walk the dogs. These sounds paint a picture in my mind of their life, even though I've never met them.

But this week I heard something different ... something horrible. Screams. Echoes of the word "no" 9 feet above my head. And footsteps running. And then I hear the sirens. See the paramedics. Hear more screams. Now there are strange footsteps running up and down the stairs. A man is taken out on a stretcher and placed in the ambulance. A woman follows behind. And then there is silence.

Only a layer of boards and paint separated my life from that of the couple living above me. One faced a regular Tuesday, the other faced tragedy. And as the week has gone by, this incident has changed me and I've grown quite sad thinking of them. In an odd way, I've been a witness to immense sorrow. I  hear the bed springs creaking late in the night and know there is no rest for the woman above me. I hear her sobs in the morning. I hear her footsteps walking back and forth. One set of light footsteps. And there is silence.