Happy People Live Here

by C. Sean McGee

9A

  Linda stood at her door, watching through the peep hole at her neighbor, the poor man, pacing back and forwards in front of the elevator. At first she thought it might have been an intruder or a sexual pervert, that’s why she had the bread knife in her hand and an extra pair of knickers on. And it was why her heart was beating so fast and so loud that she could hear it in her head and she thought that everyone else could too, and that it would give her away.

  When the elevator arrived, her neighbor got in and she lost her chance to talk to him. But she was in her pajamas anyway, so she would look silly. She had this urge, though, to say something. Everyone else was talking about them and making things up as if they knew what happened. They were all stupid, like the other dentists at the clinic, and the receptionist, and her sisters; always whispering about her behind her back and saying that there was something wrong with her, probably because they were jealous - because she didn’t need a boyfriend or a fancy car and because she didn’t need to go out and spend money, to show that she was rich.

  Her shower was quick. Linda didn’t like to spend much time under the water. It was a waste of money and a stupid kind of luxury. There were better ways to spend money recklessly than getting saturated. She could stand in the rain and do that and not have to spend a penny.

  If she got sick, though, because of it, she would have to see a doctor and though she had a medical plan, she would have to spend fuel to go there and the doctor would probably give her a prescription and it would cost a lot too to get that filled. The cost of medicine nowadays was just ridiculous.

  So it was best that she didn’t dance in the rain.

  Truth is, Linda couldn’t think of a single thing she would like to spend money on, not in the way that other people spent their money. She much preferred to keep it in the bank, where it was safe.

  She soaped and rinsed quickly and decided not to shampoo her hair, leaving it in a shower cap. They were stupid inventions, though. They never stopped the water entirely and that was always something that irritated Linda, having just part of her hair being wet while the rest was like it was supposed to be. And it was always a patch of hair that touched the back of her ear or on her neck.

  She didn’t like the feeling at all.

  When it came to dressing, Linda was fast. She would be faster only if she had a third and a fourth arm or if she didn’t have legs, and she didn’t have to tighten the Velcro straps on her shoes.

  There were apartment buildings all around hers, on every side. So if she was in her bedroom, outside of the window, not a stone’s throw away, there was another bedroom window, looking right at hers. And it was the same for her balcony and for the small window in her shower, and the one in her laundry too, where she kept her treadmill.

  Linda always had the feeling that somebody was watching her. She didn’t have the money to buy curtains, not the kind she wanted anyway, and it was always too hot at night to close the windows so they were always open and anybody could see in at any time, which they probably did because people were no good spies; the grass is greener types, always wanting to read from the backs of someone else’s shoulder or guess what kind of pizza they got, when they got it delivered.

  She could get dressed in the bathroom but it steamed up too much and it was difficult to breathe. She didn’t leave the window open, not while she was in the shower. That would be crazy. Not that other people could see, the window was too high. So high that Linda had to stretch up on her tippy toes, just to flick the handle with her index finger. It was crazy, though, mainly because the cold air would get in and then the shower would feel cold and she would have to turn it down more to make it hotter and that would use more electricity and then she’d just be spending money for no good reason. It was hard enough for Linda as it was, on account of her not being as tall as other people. The drops would all get cold by the time they fell on her. It made her showers a little uncomfortable. She was planning, though, to buy a plastic seat, so she could be closer to the hotter drops.

  Linda dressed quickly. She didn’t bother to wipe any drops that were still on her. There wasn’t any time, especially not if anyone was looking. And they could too if they wanted to. People had all sort of contraptions and technology, just for spying on people; binoculars and glasses that could see through walls, so even if she had the curtains, they would still be able to spy on her.

  She saw it on television once, this family that put a camera inside a teddy bear. It was really small, so small that the nanny who was always shaking and hitting their children with her sandal didn’t even know it was there. It was inside the teddy’s eye. Cameras were so small now that they could be hidden anywhere, in anything.

  Instantly, and still clutching the towel to her body, she thought of Patty, her cleaner. She was always going through her things and moving stuff around, especially when she wasn’t asked to do so. She’d always say sorry when Linda shouted at her for it, but you could tell that she wasn’t sorry, not in the slightest. Linda always had to keep moving around her important thing so that Patty wouldn’t steal them.

  Poor people were like that. They were bad, not because they wanted to be, but because that’s just how they were. You wouldn’t leave a dog around an open fridge. The same goes for poor people. They were good at doing their jobs, most of the time, but it’s their job to go through stuff and if they see stuff, it’s in their nature to steal it and to take it home. They all have lots of children in their small houses and their husbands are probably in prison so, they don’t mean bad, it’s just the way they are.

  Patty was smart, though. She watched some of the same shows as Linda and always had an opinion, even when most of the time she was wrong. Linda paid her well, but not enough for cable. It was probably just another thing that she robbed, stealing culture and knowledge and entertainment when honest people like Linda had to work hard to pay for it. And they didn’t even know what to do with it, the knowledge or culture. It was like giving a violin to a monkey or a book to a blind person.

  It’s just stupid.

  But if Patty had seen the same show - which she had because she had some stupid idea that it was the parents’ fault, because they were supposed to raise their children themselves and be a mother and father like God intended, not just be a mum and dad when it was convenient and when it suited them – well then, if she did, she would have seen how that rich family caught their nanny doing all that bad stuff and she would definitely have thought about doing it herself, hiding a camera somewhere in Linda’s apartment and spying on her, to see where she moved all of her important things.

  Linda thought about Patty spying on her and she was so mad that she wanted to clench her fists into tight balls. She couldn’t though, her towel would probably drop. Then she started thinking about all the perverts out there, the ones who rented apartments on the ninth floor because it was above the line of trees and because she lived on the ninth floor too and she lived alone. And perverts and stalkers and rapists, they knew things like that. They knew when a woman was living alone. They picked their specific windows on purpose, for that reason. That’s why Linda always wore an extra pair of knickers and why she sometimes acted like she was having an argument with someone else, someone who wasn’t ever standing in front of the window. So if the rapists were listening, they would think she wasn’t alone.

  Thinking she was definitely being spied upon, Linda dressed quick, counting to five before dropping the towel and grabbing maniacally at her two pairs of knickers and her white bra and then at her white pants and her white blouse and her white socks and white shoes, like a dog would, a slither of fat thrown from a kitchen window.

  Linda didn’t eat in the mornings. Not normally anyway. Normally she had a protein drink and sometimes she would take a banana with her, so she could eat in on the way to work; sometimes, not all the time. Today though she poured herself a glass of water and she pinned her thumb and her index finger to her nose as she drank. It wasn’t because the water smelt bad or because
it tasted bad either. It was just something she was used to doing when she drank her protein shake.

  It was just a thing.

  And things, well they could be hard to shake off.

  The elevator took forever, as it always did. It was quiet on the floor, as it should be. It was still early. Most people were getting in their cars around six or so but Linda had to travel far for her work so she had to leave earlier and it was always really dark and super quiet when she was getting ready and it was just as dark and quiet when she was getting in her car and pulling out of the building.

  The part that always made her the most nervous, more nervous than walking through the dark car park or having to drive past the street with the prostitutes and the drug addicts. More nerve racking than that, though, was standing on her own floor and waiting for the elevator to come.

  If there was someone spying on her, this is where they would get her. They would be behind the plant in the corner and because everyone was asleep, nobody would be able to hear what happened. And because she never talked to anyone in the building, and because she didn’t really have any friends, nobody would notice that she was gone. So if there was a creep or a pervert or rapist, and of they were creeping about behind the plant, and if they did want to go ahead and do something, there’d be no one to stop them, and they’d probably get away with it too.

  There was the sound of crying from one of the apartments. It wasn’t loud or anything. In fact, it sounded almost like somebody crying in a movie if the television had been left on. And Linda would have thought this, had she not heard the poor woman in 9B crying every night and every morning, around this time. After what happened, who could blame her?

  Linda always wanted to do something, to knock one her door and say something. But what would she say? And what would she do? Give her a hug? She didn’t like hearing the poor woman cry. It made her want to cry too. On one hand, though, it meant that she hadn’t gone and done something stupid, on account of being so sad.

  And that was a good thing.