Sound of solace
Newly solo at 30, I move into a one-bedroom unit. There’s a connecting wall with another apartment. First night I notice it, then it continues on and on, the neighbour’s radio is on 24/7. Finally, I knock on their door to complain.
A woman, maybe 20 or 22, invites me in to apologise. She’s in grey track pants and a pink hoodie, her red hair sitting untidily on her shoulders. We exchange names and she tells me her teenage brother has been sleeping on the couch.
‘He can’t sleep without the radio, without some sort of reassuring sound,’ she says in a small voice. ‘He’s had a tough time at home with our parents, especially after I left.’
He was neglected, barely attended school.
I ask to see him, to say hello, but she says, ‘He’s under my bed, won’t come out till you go.’
Her green eyes never settle, scanning my face, searching my hands. I notice the couch is tidy and devoid of bed linen. A mug of steaming tea or coffee is on the table. One plate with one piece of toast. She’s in socks and there’s one pair of shoes at the door.
I say goodbye, and good luck. She says she’ll tell her brother to keep the radio down.
‘I work from home,’ I say, ‘just drop in.’
‘I’ll tell my brother, he might venture out, eventually.’
‘What’s his name, anyway?’
‘Ah, he’ll tell you,’ and she eases the door closed.
Keith Nunes (Aotearoa New Zealand) has had poetry, fiction, haiku and visuals published around the globe. He creates ethereal manifestations as a way of communicating with the outside world.