indood

by Thomas Mundt

Downstairs Neighbor Ben and The Girlfriend are fighting again.  This time it’s about how Downstairs Neighbor Ben hasn’t paid his union dues and has about a month to pony up or he’ll no longer be recognized as an electrician by the State of Illinois.  The Girlfriend thinks this is a bad situation to be in, considering Downstairs Neighbor Ben hasn’t found a gig in three weeks and they’re already late on rent and John and Shelley’s wedding in Carbondale is at the end of the month and they still haven’t bought anything off the registry.  

Downstairs Neighbor Ben tells The Girlfriend to relax, that she’s always sweating the small stuff, that maybe it wouldn’t kill The Girlfriend to read the book.  Maybe you could learn a thing or two about being, you know, cool, says Downstairs Neighbor Ben. 

The Girlfriend walks out of the kitchen and into a bedroom and slams the door behind her.  She falls backwards onto the duvet and turns on the digital cable.  She watches a show about the Ottoman Empire and doesn’t even think about crying.  

Downstairs Neighbor Ben grabs his heavy Timberlands from off the rug in front of the sink and puts them on without lacing.  Then he takes the last Tecate from the refrigerator.  Then he goes out the back door and grabs a director’s chair with the White Sox logo on it and carries it under his arm as he ascends the mealy stairs to the roof.  Once there, he takes a few gummy steps, careful not to peel off any shingles.  Then he sets up the director’s chair so that it’s facing west and sits down.  

The sun is setting behind the two-flats at the end of the block, where the Serbs play beanbags.  As he sips his near-frozen Tecate, Downstairs Neighbor Ben watches them lob sack after haggard sack onto the slanted wooden boards, some trickling into the hole but most just sitting there.  He watches the Serbs smoke and laugh and reminds himself to invest in a beanbag set once his dues are paid and he starts working again.