Africa

Yesterday I woke early to a muffled, ingratiating tune that drifted from across the hall, pounding at my door with wet oven mitts. Though I couldn't discern the lyrics, I could tell from the eager beat that the vocalist wore lots of makeup and wanted to help. Soft Christian rock, so precious it's lewd, at a time if day when all decent Christians are still in bed.

I turtled my head under the pillow, deciding that this would block out all sound. It didn't, and I couldn't sleep, because whenever I have a pillow over my face I think suffocation. I was angry and wanted to yell at someone. So I slid out of bed, put something on, and peeked across the hall to my neighbor's place. His apartment door was wide open, revealing nothing but a mattress, a sheet, and a radio. I gave up on the ideas of yelling or sleep, and I made coffee.

Then late yesterday evening, just home from a show, I saw that my neighbor had piled his furniture out on the sidewalk. He and his old dog were standing next to a wire closet organizer. Both of them looked lost. I asked if he was moving, and he said that he was. Where? I said, and he said, Africa.

Which is good enough reason to play the radio loudly at 8:30 am. Big changes are so disconcerting. I just wish my neighbor could get through it with something besides Christian rock. But here's what I'm saying: before you get angry, wait to hear the story behind the story.




This afternoon I have an appointment to look at a room. I may be moving in a month or two. (Well before you-know-when, ginab.) When things start to change, I know I have to pay attention so I don't walk into walls or step out in traffic or fall down holes to earth's center. It's a risky time, and right now I MUST be practical and not make any big decisions.