We Lucky Few

The song of a soul

I felt absolutely glorious when I woke up. There was nothing more refreshing than the sleep one got after sex. I stretched and moaned quietly, closing my eyes again with a contented sigh.

My eyes flew open as loud screaming and drumming suddenly filled my room. 

Oh, God. She cannot be serious.

It was Sunday, for God's sake. The heavy drumming that blasted from the neighbor's apartment made my bed vibrate. A tortured guitar screeched away some riffs before some poor soul started screaming again. So much for the peace.

I grunted and heaved myself off the bed. I was only wearing black boxershorts, but I did not care for that one bit as I yanked my door open and hammered on Calliope's.

"CALLIOPE!"

Her door opened.

"... Get on your knees and bow dooooooown...," the singer roared.

I opened my mouth to voice my opinion, loudly, when my gaze fell on her face.

"What?" she snapped at me.

She had quite obviously been crying. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were red and she wore what could only be described as a hoodie three sizes too big. At least. She was clutching some piece of paper in her hand.

"Um..." I faltered. "Could you please turn it down a bit?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you are such a pussy! Fine! I'll wear headphones."

She was about to turn around and smash her door in my face when she ripped it open once more and started yelling:

"Next time I come back and your shit-ass car is in my spot I'll have it towed. Don't think you can just do whatever you want to. I won't put up with it!" Then she stepped back and slammed the door shut.

I stood in the hall, taken aback, eyes wide, while a flicker of angry indignation warmed my insides.

What the hell? That girl has some serious issues.

I shook my head in amazement and went back into the apartment. The music stopped blaring and I walked over to get some coffee.

Should I have asked if she was okay?

A twinge of guilt almost made me go knock on her door again.

No. None of your business. You don't know her anyway.

I grunted as I took one of the croissants I'd bought the day before and bit into it. Only then did I notice how starved I was. When I finished the first one, I grabbed another and waddled over to the couch to browse through my Scientific American. There was an interesting article about a partially revived pig brain that would raise obvious ethical questions, about animal welfare and treatment, but also about the consequences for humans. I was a firm believer of "Just because you can doesn't mean you should", even if my scientific curiosity tried to bribe me into satisfying it.

I was deeply lost in thought when there was a shy knock on my door. I got up and went to open it. There stood Calliope, a muffin wedged in her hands. She didn't look at me as she mumbled:

"I'm sorry for yelling at you." She offered me the muffin and I stared at her for a few seconds, eyes traveling up and down her body before my forehead creased into a frown. She looked thoroughly wrecked, as if she was on the verge of tears again, and a wave of sympathy made my shoulders slump.

"It's okay, I get it. Everyone can have a bad day." I took the muffin. "Thank you."

She nodded, still not meeting my eyes. As soon as her hands were free, she tucked them underneath her armpits. I reached out and put a finger underneath her chin, gently pushing her head up until she met my eyes. They were shrouded in sadness and glassy from her tears.