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Writer
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: USA
Posts: 31
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One Floor Up
One Floor Up
At night, I would always hear these mysterious sounds coming from one floor up, ominous, not spooky, but sense provoking enough to sometimes keep me up all night. There was one night I didn't hear them, and every thing felt wrong. I couldn't sleep that night.
Fortunately, they began again the next night. Perhaps, my upstairs neighbor had gone out that night.
I did not know her too well. I knew very few things about the people upstairs. The only reason I knew that my upstairs neighbor was a woman was because, I had heard that name Janza. People talked about Janza a lot, how odd she was, and how she lived in that apartment all alone, often in total darkness. She was out of her place quite a bit, and when it was clear that she was there, there would be no answer.
There were four residents who had apartments upstairs. One apartment was of a grandmother and her granddaughter, they wanted nothing to do with me when I greeted them to my building, and nothing to do with anyone else either. Another apartments was a man's who I had never seen. He was out of town most of the time, and when ever there was any indication that he was home, I would knock, greet him friendly. His voice would echo back to me, usually saying "Please go away. I don't wish to be rude, but I'd rather be alone." And
then, there was this woman who lives in an apartment with the exact same floor plan as my own, just inches above my own ceiling. I had gone up there before, but she was never home.
But there was always a note on her door, always reading, Be Back in a Few. I tried one night when I heard the sounds to go upstairs and see if the note was there. It wasn't. I knocked, and politely asked if anyone was home. The grandmother stuck her head out of her apartment door and asked me to be quiet, in a rather rude manner. I got no response, otherwise. I went back to bed, and heard the sounds again. I thought of checking it out again, but thought better of it. Why don't I leave a note of my own, I thought to myself. So I did. I wrote:
Your Neighbor from one floor down, I don't mean to be rude by any means, but some have complained one floor down, and I have not been any of the folks who have been complaining of strange sounds coming from your room. I am quite curious of these sounds myself, and wish to know more about them. I fall asleep to them every night...
I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash. Then I picked it out of the rubbish and uncrumpled it, looked at the unfinished note again and left it on my desk.
That was three weeks ago. Yesterday, I decided to try upstairs once again. After getting home from work, I went upstairs to her door... It was open a crack.
"Come in, come in!" I heard a sweet voice say. "Please do, my good neighbor, please do."
The room was incredibly dark, but in the middle of the room, sat a figure, a shadowy figure, darker than the darkness itself.
"Please close the door, my good man, I will turn the light on."
I didn't want to, I didn't believe this voice.
"Please, my friend. My name is Janza. I'm sure you've heard plenty about me."
I closed the door. The light went on.
I was shocked by what I saw. It didn't have to do with how clean the place was, the dark blue walls covered with hanging paintings and portraits, and how clean the carpet was, or how everything was so perfectly orderly. It was the sight of Janza.
Janza wasn't the woman I envisioned. She was a girl. A teenage girl.
"My friend, I know what you're thinking. I know why you are up here. It's the sounds you hear at night."
"Yes, actually, Janza. I'm pleased to meet you. The name's Rich."
"Ah, Rich. Please sit down."
I sat down on a throwpillow next to her. "Do you want something, Rich?"
"Ah, no thank you. So tell me, how did you come to be in this building? I mean, this isn't the sort of place that people would think a person like you would be. This is pretty much a place for people whose lives are miserable and dull. But you, just by the smile on your face, the look in your eyes, that you are pretty happy here."
I could really tell that much. Janza was beautiful. Her dark eyes were warm and inviting, her smile maybe even more so of both. Her dark skin was unblemished far as I could tell.
Her voice was very sweet, but it had a quality of wisdom to it, that seemed to be far beyond her years.
"You want to know how old I am?"
"What makes you think that, Janza?" I don't know why I felt so comfortable with her. Her inviting aura may've been a great part of that. Even though I felt so comfortable, simultaneously I felt rather uneasy.
"Sixteen," she said.
"You're sixteen?" I asked in disbelief.
"No, but I'm pretty sure that would be your guess. I'm actually twenty-five."
"I see." I now felt I had to be direct, "People in this building, are very, curious about you. Now I'm not interviewing you for the audience of all the apartments here, I'm very curious myself, about what happens at night... that we hear."
"You hear sounds, yes. That is me singing."
"It is?"
"Yes, but in a language no one here would understand. I don't exactly understand why you're able to hear these songs, I sing very softly. But you aren't the only one who hears them?"
"I hear them the best I believe."
"Just ignore them."
"Why?"
"Because they don't mean anything."
"What do you mean."
"I'm dying, Rich."
I didn't know what to say. My lips didn't part at all.
"Yes, a matter of days, hours, minutes perhaps... I have a rare disease, and I will not be much longer."
"But your songs, what are they about?" I asked the question as hurriedly as possible.
"They are prayers, Rich. Unanswered prayers. I think I have lost my faith. I am trying to find it again."
"You think you're being punished somehow?"
"Yes, and no. You see, Rich. I wanted to be with someone when I died, to give them a message. I wanted it to be someone who would understand. I am here, Rich, because I have no other place to go. I cannot afford any other place, my disability will not permit me to find any other place suitable to my needs. I want someone to give this to an old friend of mine. I want this someone to be you, Rich."
"But I..."
"Barely know me, yes, Rich, but that is not important now. You see, there is something very important that each of us need to accomplish in our lives, but it isn't always obvious to see, it isn't even always obvious during our life times."
She handed me the message, in an envelope. On it read, Reservation Request, One Floor Up.
I didn't know what to say, "I don't understand, Miss Janza, I'm sadly confused. I was just hear to ask, what it was I was hearing..."
"You are hear for a reason, my friend. Thank you, for understanding..."
She fainted, I was going to call 911. But by her phone was a number, above it Dr. Phil Indus. Her doctor, I dialed the number.
"Hello, Dr. Indus' Office, Dr. Phil Indus speaking."
"Hi, this is Janza's downstairs neighbor, she's collapsed what do I do?"
"Oh, my God. Thank you for calling, I'll be there right away. Get her some cold water, get her to sip it!" He hung up.
I hurried to the refrigerator, poured a glass of ice cold water from a convienent pitcher there, I rushed back with the cup, helped her to sip it. She opened her eyes, "My time is up, please, give that message to Doctor..."
Dr. Phil Indus was there what seemed moments later. "She's dead..." he announced softly.
"I did what you asked."
"Yes, I see. Now for that."
"The message?"
"Yes. Please let me open it."
"Of course," I turned to leave.
"Don't leave, good man. She wanted you to be here."
"You know about this?"
"Yes, she told me that she wanted someone to be with her when she died. I assume that it you, as dangerous as it is to assume."
"It is, but she did say I was whom she wanted to be here. I have no idea what that means. She said I, understood."
"Looks untampered, good."
"If you don't mind my asking, what was it she had?"
"A broken heart."
"How can you die of a broken heart, I thought it was a rare disease."
"She calls it a rare disease. It's more of a defect really, a defect that modern technology can't fix. I was working with her to see if I could fix it. She's been seeing me since she was sixteen."
"Sixteen, she mentioned that number."
"Ah, the message says, 'I have found the defect, and why I have it. It turns out Dr. Phil, that I have an ailment that may one day strike down the entire human race. It is caused by loneliness, lack of faith, lack of love, lack of friendship, and no understanding of how just one soul can change an entire world. We all create our own problems, we say prayers which are only words, words that in many cases mean nothing at all, for what we wish for is so useless that it isn't worthy of being answered. As for this physical defect, it is a simple imperfection that cannot be helped, and is almost there by design. My time was chosen for me. I had nine or ten years to live. Problem was, I limited myself to that time. And now, for by now I have moved one floor up, I now have no limit of time. My final word, good Doctor, is for you to give this to someone who can understand what I have said, to tell the world that people need to care a little more, work a little harder at life, and
don't let themselves close themselves in like I did. I hope someone will come along that can pass along these ideas that I attempt to share in my final moments. Goodbye, Dr. Phil, goodbye world, the world that could never accept me but needed me all the same. Goodbye."
Dr. Phil wiped a tear from his eye. I wiped several from mine. "I don't know how I can help, but, I am a writer."
"Please, Mr. Writer. Take this message. Please try to write a piece about what she is saying. She talked about how much she wanted to help the world, but how much she could never do it on her own. She needs your help. The world needs your help."
"The world doesn't need my help, good Doctor. The world needs to help themselves."
---
I share this story with you, good friends, because it is so strange and wonderful at the same time, a girl who wanted to help the world but couldn't do it on her own. She had so many beautiful ideas, and for some reason, wanted someone else to share them with the world. I am not a preacher. I am a writer of words, words that I use to describe things which I see and which others may see but not fully realize what they actually see. This is a story of an individual who was confined for the rest of her life by her own self, her own
inadequacy, and in the very end, regretted her entire life and how she had wasted it, only to at the very end, share her bit of wisdom with the world. I think we all think many of the same things, but until those words were spoken by poor Janza, I had never had that sort of perspective on the world, how fragile life is, and how we need to live each day the best we can, and share our thoughts and dreams with the world, for though most won't understand and will misinterpret you, there will be those who understand quite well, and will look to better themselves from the wisdom they have gained through your insight.
I implore you, my friends, never limit yourself, don't close yourself in, open up yourself to the world, but never change who you are. Never be afraid to show your true self, because if you let the fear of exposure get you, well, you will end up just like everyone else in my terrible apartment building, alone, separated from the world, dreary, and without a reason to, at all, care.
Fin
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