Sunday 15 September 2013

the girl downstairs

The girl downstairs came up and knocked on my door. I asked who is it. ITS THE GIRL DOWNSTAIRS she said. I decided to open the door, for the girl downstairs. But i did not let her into my apartment. I didn't even know her name.

The girl downstairs is a blonde with a very well low-lit auburn section. She gets her hair done in LA, apparently. I can tell. Nobody up here in Sacramento can cut and color hair like hers. And if they can, I haven't seen it. Maybe i need to look a little harder. Maybe not. I would rather just feast my eyes on this LA situated hairdo, i told myself, and i did.

The girl downstairs was now dragging the girl upstairs, downstairs. Wow. And i didn't even know her fucking name! She was leading me like a horse, to water. And you cannot do that! Everybody knows! Lucky for her, I am not a horse. So she led me on downstairs and now we were like, two girls downstairs. If she had had a daughter, we could have called ourselves, two and a half girls. But she didn't have a daughter. Well, at least not downstairs she didn't.

The girl downstairs took me all the way back through an apparently identical apartment, to the bathroom. Which was WHERE THE PROBLEM IS. I guess she wanted to make her problem, my problem. But lucky for me. Today i don't take on other people's problems. Especially when i don't even know their fucking name. Hello!

The girl downstairs had an apartment almost identical to mine. Except for one key feature. The girl upstairs has VAULTED CEILINGS. Bitch! That would be me. I suspect. What with all the names she called our landlady in the span of five minutes while she showed me the bulge in her bathroom ceiling where apparently the water was collecting or WHO KNOWS WHAT.

The girl downstairs asked the girl upstairs, downstairs, without even asking really, to cosign on her conviction that the landlady was an alcoholic nightmare, post menopause. Well, i added the last part for effect.

You know, i really just had to introduce myself to this girl downstairs, before making my slow exit and tracing my path back upstairs and out of hell. Back to my vaulted ceilings and my bathroom which she had decided was imminent to COLLAPSE. It can be really hard not to cosign people who are strangers with convictions and right up in your face. And leading you around like that. I have to say I was rather uncomfortable by the whole kitten kaboodle.

But lucky for her, I wasn't gonna lead her into the street and allow a truck to run her down. I probably could have, because she was so lost in a zone of fury. But I am glad I smiled politely and excused myself. I said we could talk later, you know, WHEN THE FLOOR COLLAPSED AND DROPPED ME INTO HER BATHROOM. Maybe sometime this evening. I can't wait.

-by Katya, 09/15
(pssst... up until midnight PST, today only, my novel is free on amazon).