Out of Sequence

 

The square below is a playground of dirt but the children don’t care, they have known nothing else.   Their playing and arguing sound the same to me, I can never tell the difference.  Their Italian voices rise with the dust and drift off across the courtyard, disappearing over the tile rooftops.  Soon the sun will be setting, and mothers will be calling them home for dinner.

My Montepulciano is half empty.  I fill my glass a bit and set the bottle back down on my old wooden table.  My matchbook has once again slid out from beneath the table leg.  A slight breeze moves the faded, lace curtains that hang on each side of the window and I no longer hear the children below.  I am curious as to why they have stopped playing but not curious enough to walk over and look down at the courtyard.   Am I lazy or too tipsy to trust myself to walk from here to there?

My room is bland.  The only art on the walls is what was already here when I moved in.  I don’t like it at all but have never changed it.  Perhaps I am lazy.  For $510.00 a month you’d expect better artwork.  Still, there are no voices coming from the courtyard.  I must get up and see what is going on.  As I walk towards the window I can see the apartment straight across.  Two people are leaning out and looking down.  Something must have happened, something not good I expect.

I can smell the aroma coming from a different apartment and it’s making me hungry.  Whatever it is smells great.  If only I knew of some way to get myself invited.  Suddenly, one of the ladies across the way let out a scream, followed by a gasp from the other person looking down.   Before I made it to the open window, someone was pounding on my door.  I turned and walked that way to see why someone was knocking so frantically. 

A heavyset man in a suit flashed his badge and as he entered my apartment, asked what I had been up to.  I didn’t understand his question but then again, he didn’t wait for me to answer.  He kept heading towards the window, then leaned out to look down at the courtyard below.  I followed him but then noticed the matchbook on the floor next to the table leg. 

As I stooped to pick it up, I tripped and lunged forward, plowing into the man who was already leaning out.  I couldn’t stop myself and the impact sent him flying.  As I heard him hit the ground, the two women across the way looked up and straight at me.