Page 5 of Callan

“And here comes the banging,” I murmur and barely finish saying that, and the ominous thuds upstairs make the entire building shake––in my opinion, anyway, since I have a flair for dramatic narratives.

“Oh, my,” she says. “Color meimpressed… That’s some real banging,” she adds while I nod in agreement.

It feels like an earthquake.

My tea trembles in the mug and the wall art print of a woman sitting in a poppy field tilts to the side, no longer hanging straight.

“Have you seen this man?”

“Nope. But I’ve heard plentyfromhim. I don’t know what he does to her, but she comes like it’s nobody’s business, and he plunges into her like he’s about to kill her.”

“Man, I’d love some of that action.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Hmm…” she pushes out, suddenly irritated. “What’s wrong with men these days?”

“Are you talking about someone in particular? Is this about my experience or yours?”

“Mine, yours, who cares? Have you had an experience like that?”

“In my dreams, maybe. Not even then.”

I pretend to sift through my memories as if there was a point in doing that.

“No. For sure, no,” I say seriously. “Although there have been some failed attempts on their part. No,” I say again in a clipped voice, changing my mind, and this time, gesturing. “We’ve neverstruggledwith this kind of passion,” I joke.

“Do you think it’s about the passion?’

“What else?”

I start to wonder now myself.

My neighbor’s moans climb a steep slope before morphing into some kind of final triumphant screech as if he’s slid a dagger through her heart.

“That was impressive,” she says as I look at the view outside, searching for better entertainment.

Soft snowflakes fall from the sky while the night creeps in.

“It’s not over,” I announce, glancing at her and garnering a stunned look from her.

She gestures at me.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she says. “How can you put yourself through that kind of torture?”

“Do I have a choice? I live here.”

A flicker of compassion beams across her face while she quietly sighs.

“I’m sure he’s a nasty looking motherfucker,” she says to ease my pain.

I chuckle in response.

“You think?”

“Yeah. I’m sure of that,” she says with humor. “I bet he looks like our math teacher. Do you remember him?”

Oh, our math teacher.

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