Through the Walls

Saturday morning was our day to sleep in at 111b Main Street. Very
early one morning the rumble of a tractor cab pulled up behind our back
window. The garage door opened and we could hear slow, heavy footsteps
pound on the steps from the basement. In the first floor apartment
resided our retired neighbor Mrs. Crb. We always looked out for her.
She was cheerful, small and round, and lacked several teeth; it was
difficult for us to understand her. From our bed we heard a heavy rap
on her door. She was happy to see this gentleman with a husky voice,
and she invited him in. He spoke no better than she did.

I made the coffee and brought another cup back to bed for my husband.
We went back to sleep. An hour later we woke to the sound of pounding.
Mrs. Crb found a boyfriend; we cracked to the peel of laughter.

***

On balmy evenings lawn chairs would line up in front of the units and
the residents would come out and socialize. This was a common practice
in the city and something that I was used to. We'd talk and watch the
number eleven trolley lumber around the curve and pass our row. We
gossip about the latest argument and watch the fighting family as they
carted new furniture to their front door.

Every two weeks this couple would fight. They lived two doors down from
our apartment. We heard yelling and crashing sounds echo through the
walls. Furniture would hurl from the back window down to the cement or
on to their car below. They would always make up.