As I heard these words being shouted in utter despair I foggily tried to understand what was happening. I just moved into a new apartment a few weeks ago and still am getting settled in. Although I've managed to unpack the boxes I haven't gotten around to meeting any of my neighbors, except Randy, the older Chinese gentleman who lives next door. And since the voice could clearly not belong to Randy, who is over 60 and speaks with a slight accent, I wondered who this guy was shouting to, for or about.
I though maybe it was a couple having an argument, but I couldn't hear the voice of anyone else, and the person on the other side of the voice was clearly pacing, the voice trailing around to the front of my apartment and then to the rear. It went from an angry rant to a sort of whiny whimper, all the time the voice getting choked up in despair. "You knew my past when you met me.... I'm sorry... I love you... I do, I swear, I know I've been stupid...but that was the past...this is now... I love you... (and the kicker) but I love your body... I need you... why won't you talk to me..." the voice broke down in a rattling choke cry coughing and I could imagine him kneeling on the grass outside the apartment.
I was laying in bed fighting the urge to look through the blinds or go out the front door to see who this voice belonged to, but I didn't dare. It was sort of sad this private conversation that was pretty much anything but private as it carried through the quiet street where we lived. Since I couldn't hear a voice in reply I figured he must be on a cell phone, but then as he continued to pace and whimper I thought maybe he was calling out to a window, to someone inside. Perhaps my neighbor was having a lovers quarrel.
And then the voice just stopped, there was not the sound of a door opening or of a reuniting. Which I would definitely have heard since it sounded like he was yelling inside of my bedroom window. The whimpering ended and it was quiet again. I started to wonder, in horror, perhaps this was a worse situation. Perhaps the previous tenant of this fine apartment was dating this guy and when they broke up she moved, and within a few weeks I moved in. And perhaps he thought that he was serenading her inside the apartment and had no idea I was laying there laughing quietly in result of how uncomfortable I felt listening.
Two days later I came home to my apartment and found a priority mail box waiting for me on my doorstep. I was awaiting some mail from my mom, so I tore it open and looked inside. It was definitely NOT mine. Inside was a photo album, and photos along with some homemade cookies and chocolates. NO! I had opened someone else's mail! As I wondered how the hell I was going to get this package to its rightful owner, I looked at the address. It was indeed mine. And it was definitely sent from a person with the same last name as the receiver.
The box is sitting in the corner of my apartments living room. I've re-taped the box with some blue gaff tape I had and am working up the courage to take to the post office to return to sender, the obviously tampered with package.
I can't help but think the package is related to the whimpering voice outside my window a few nights ago. It must be. But then again, I'm hoping it's not, because if it is, I am living in a former war zone of broken hearts. A war zone where one of the parties has moved on, and the other one is clearly still fighting.
