Man

There is a man that lives next door to me.
He bangs on the walls and shouts through out the night. He never comes out of his room, however. I always fear that he will, though. His anger might drive him out of that room one night and I will be there to hear everything go wrong.

I hear him every night around 1 a.m. Bang Bang Bang. Shout shout shout. That’s what he does all night, you know?
Last night was different.  He didn’t shout and he didn’t bang. He didn’t do anything. I wondered what was going on. I crept up to the wall and I knocked. 1,2,3.

Knock knock knock.

Nothing back.

I have never fathomed knocking on his door for I had never seen him.

I did wonder what he looked like though. Mostly, I wondered why he was angry. Was he locked in there? Did someone leave him there to fend for himself? Is it just really bad anxiety? Yeah, right: Anxiety.

I walked out of my room yesterday and saw some light crawling from under his door. I stayed, quiet, watching. Silence drowned everything out, including my thoughts.  He never really has his lights on. I stayed entranced by the light.

Then

something blocked the flood of light.

Someone was standing on the other side of the door. It’s almost as if he knew I was outside waiting for something to happen.

I stood frozen. Unable to decide if moving would trigger some sort of reaction from him. Would he chase me down the stairs? Would he just pound on the walls again? I stood waiting, urging my self to become invisible. Mentally screaming at him that I wasn’t there and he couldn’t see me. I waited about a minute. It was a long drawn out minute. The type of minute that made me remember all kinds of unnecessary things that would have never been a big deal in any other minute, such as how much lemonade I drank before leaving my room.

I began to shift my weight from one leg to the other, lightly, though, as to not make a sound that would cause the wooden floors to creak and make a commotion.

Finally, he moved away from the door. The light clicked off. I opened my door and ran into my room to tend to the bladder that was empty one minute , then anxiously filled the next.

As I finished, I contemplated braving a stroll outside again.

I was scared, however. So I decided to stay in my room. Just as the man had decided to stay in his. What scared him so much that he felt trapped in there?

I’ll tell you what had me scared and STILL has me scared to this day…it’s him.

And I’ve never seen him in my life. I can only imagine what or who he is. He’s never seen me. I doubt he sees anything else, for that matter.

So… why am I still in here in this room? Why is he?

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