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Our curious, mildly fearful eyes find each other, and Margarita and I do a quiet, tandem little trot to the door to get a closer listen.
The hallway floors are carpeted to prevent neighborly footfalls from disturbing the peace, but there’s a pair of feet outside that just won’t be denied. They’re loud, slamming insistently against the carpet, clomping their way past our door to the other end of the hallway…
Then back.
Margarita and I choose the exact same moment to look at each other.
“Is it…more performance art?” She’s whispering, and she gets even quieter with those last couple words.
“You don’t need to whisper.”
There it is.
There it fucking is.
Wherever the fuck I left that script, I’ve fucking found it.
Margarita’s eyes are peering into mine, and what I need to say and do—and not say—could not be fucking clearer.
As the angry feet stomp past our door again, I tear that thread right off Margarita’s shawl, and when the yelling outside starts up again, our lips collide and our tongues entangle like fucking crazy.
“I can’t believe he…I can’t believe I…how could I be so fucking stupid? Again?” the woman outside shrieks.
“I don’t think that’s performance art.” We’re both panting, frenzied, after ending that mad fucking kiss. I’m taking the opportunity to explain whatever the fuck might be happening outside. “That’s a young woman going through some shit.”
“Fuck!” More shrieking.
“Young woman?” Margarita whispers. “You’re young! We’re young! At least too young to be acting like…like…”
She doesn’t need to think of the words, because our tongues are already working with each other again to invent a new kind of language.
“What are you doing on this floor? What are you so upset about?” There’s a man’s voice now, but I couldn’t fucking care less.
“I’m not ffff…I’m not falling for any of this shit, anymore,” the girl says. “It’s such clear bullshit.”
“This is so out of nowhere,” the man continues. “Weren’t we just…”
“Okay, I’m still whispering, because I want no part of whatever that is in any way.”
“They can’t hear us, my love, they don’t ca—”
“What on Earth is going on in this building today?”
“Just people living their lives,” I reply with a shrug. “The same as any other day.”
Margarita’s eyes dart towards the window across the living room, and then back at me. “What if I don’t want this to be like any other day?”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, Thomas. Let’s go into the other room so we can get some peace and fucking quiet and talk about things.”
Three
Margarita
“Come on, Emilia…”
The one voice is fading, thankfully, down the corridor.
