Diminished

My alarm blared away. I must have picked the most abrasive sound possible. I’d chosen 8a.m., an hour before I’d heard the piano yesterday. I went down to the front desk to check my mail. Richard, the building’s front desk guy, was working. The liquor store didn’t open until 10.

“Hey Richard, I-”

“Richie, sir.”

“Oh, alright then. Any mail for me?”

“No sir.”

An idea occurred to me. “Hey Richie, you know of a cat lady who lives here? About this tall” I said, estimating with my hand, “glasses, high voice?”

“Yes sir.”

“Where does she live?”

“Right across from you sir. Have you met her yet?”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked. But I’ve gotta say. I’ve been here a week now and outside of her, I haven’t met a single other neighbor. Hey, could you tell me anything about who’s on either side of me?”

“Yes sir. Would you like the long version or the short?”

I considered this. I wanted to know about my neighbors, but I couldn’t hear the piano from here, and I couldn’t risk missing it.

“Short version, Rich.”

“Richie, sir.”

“The short version, Richie.”

“Your room is kind of like a battleground, sir.”

“What do you mean, Richie?”

“Have you heard of the Sexists?”

“Sure, you mean like, people who opposed suffrage, or whatever?”

“No sir. I mean the Sexists in this apartment building.”

“I can’t say I have, Richie.”

“The short version is that six months ago, a tenant decided to have a guest over for the night. She went to bed with him, and she accidentally left the window open. The issue was that she was loud. Really loud. So loud that she woke up just about everyone in the building. But it was over quickly. So no one felt like getting out of bed to file a complaint. At least, not that night.”

“So where does the sexism come in?”

“No sir. Not sexism. I’m talking about the Sexists.”

“Ok.”

“The next day, the other tenants started to talk. They talked when they passed each other in the hallways or this lobby. They talked when they got their mail. And soon, two groups had formed. The first is a group who call themselves the Librarians.”

“The Librarians?”

“Yes sir. It’s a group made up of everyone who signed the request for that tenant to be evicted. They said that they deserved the right to peace and quiet. And also that no one needed to have sex that loudly.”

“Was it really that loud?”

“Oh yes, sir. It was.”

“Alright, so who are the Sexists?”

“The group that wrote the counter-request. They wanted the tenant to stay. They said it wasn’t fair to get evicted after one mistake, and there was nothing wrong with sex. Sometimes they have intercourse with their window open as an act of protest, sometimes they don’t.”

I nodded, recalling yesterday. “What happened to the tenant who left her window open?”

“Her lease was up that month anyway, and she decided it would be better to move.”

“I think I understand. And how does my apartment fit into this?”

“Well, your apartment is right between the leaders of the groups.”

“Why do the factions still exist if the tenant left?”

“That’s a good question, sir.”

I shook my head. “I appreciate it Richie, but I’ve got something to do. We’ll pick this up later, alright?”

“Yes sir. But if it’s after 10, sir, I might be down the street-”

“I get it, Richie.”

I headed back to my apartment.

It was 9:30am when I heard him play. Immediately, from the first key he depressed, I knew. There was simply no mistaking it. It was a different song today, he was playing a bit faster, more syncopation. But it was the same ghost hiding in the keys. I sprinted down and out of my building.

When I reached the jazz cafe I could still hear him. I found myself shivering. In my haste I’d forgotten to bring a jacket. I went inside.

The jazz cafe was entirely empty.

The piano was once again without a pianist and this time the barista too was absent. I heard a phone ring.

My hand instinctively fell to my pocket, but that wasn’t where it was coming from. I scanned the room and saw a faint green glow emitting from one of the stainless steel tables. The phone was old, maybe from the mid to late 2000’s. Mushy buttons instead of a touch screen. I looked around the room. There was no one in sight. But the door was unlocked. And it started ringing only after I got here…

I picked it up and accepted the call.

On the other side was an electronically distorted voice.

“So you answered the phone.”

I looked around the room again. “I did.”

“I have three questions for you. If you answer them, I’ll give you the pianist.”

“I just want to talk with the guy.”

“The pianist will be yours.”

“Alright.”

“The first question is as follows: are you loved?”

I seemed to recoil from the phone, as though the question had pinched my earlobe. Am I loved? What a strange and useless thing to ask.

“I was, once. Now I’m not so sure.”

“You’ve failed to answer the first of my three questions. Please set the phone on the table and try again some time in the future. You’re excused.”

With that, I heard a faint click, and the voice was gone.

I found myself shaking my head. I was doing that more often lately. Bad habit, I think. Strains the neck. I did what the voice asked, then walked deeper into the city.

The further I walked into this place, the more I was convinced there was something at its center. The buildings got taller and more industrial, the disparity between expensive shops and the inexpensive widened, and the people got more condensed. I checked the map on my phone. This was the spot.

Am I loved?

It was a sandwich place, and it didn’t seem happy about it. The building had seen its better days. I hoped the sandwiches hadn’t.

She’d spoken of this place several times. She told me that next time we went to the city, the first thing we’d do is stop right here. “It’s the best,” she said, “it just is.” I wondered now if she’d lied to me. There was a portly man in a dirty apron behind a glass display of various deli meats. He had a couple friends with him, the problem was that they had wings and buzzed. It smelled alright though.

“Hey,” the man said, “what can I get for you?”

“Give me the best sandwich you’ve got.”

“Alright.”

A couple minutes later he delivered it to my table.

“Enjoy.”

I nodded, unwrapped it, and dug in. Much to my surprise, it was delicious. It was maybe the best sandwich I’d ever had. Roast beef with all the usual condiments, but there was just something about it that was different. It was good enough to wake me up, so I gave the shop another once over. Sure, it wasn’t the most hygienic place, and it definitely wasn’t a looker. But adorning the walls were pictures upon pictures of happy customers. I scanned the wall. Each person permanently captured in a state of happiness. I wondered if it was real. The smiles. Then, I saw her on the wall.

In truth, I don’t think I’d thought much at all about her since I’d left. Not because I was disinterested or because she meant nothing to me. I just thought if she walked across my mind, she wouldn’t leave until she’d killed me.

‘Mmm, what do you think we’ll name him?’

‘Him? I’d always thought female dogs were better. The male dogs are too rambunctious.’

‘We can get a female dog.’

‘It doesn’t really matter. What do you want?’

‘A male dog.’

‘Then so it shall be.’

I left the place with a full stomach and empty schedule. I scanned the area. On either side of the sandwich place was ruin. Abandoned buildings with boarded windows. I guessed that squatters had probably found a way inside. Good for them.

Across the street was a large brick warehouse. As I walked closer, I could make out mechanical screeches and resonant, metallic banging. There were no windows.

One of the two large warehouse doors in the front of the building swung open a bit, and several workers filed out. They walked across the street to the sandwich place. There were six of them of varyings builds and heights and as their conversation passed me I found I couldn’t make out one voice from another. Each of them had some sort of oil or grease smeared across their face. They sure did laugh a lot. I decided to head back.

I found that the entire hallway of my floor had been redecorated. The beige walls and flickering lights were still there, of course. But tacky, bright green posters had been taped up and down the whole thing. I stopped to read one.

‘LIBERATION. FREEDOM. AUTONOMY. VOTE CECILE FOR COMMUNITY MANAGER.’ It was written in a plain serif font in all capital letters. Black ink on green paper. Cecile had drive, but not an ounce of design sense.

I went inside and got back to my copy of Germinal. I had half a workday to burn, and I’d found the city to be equally depressing to Zola anyway. Before long, I found myself drifting into the embrace of a warm nap…

My phone buzzed. I considered the likelihood of whether or not it could be urgent. I groaned, swung my feet onto my red Ikea rug, and walked over to it. A text from an old friend. ‘Yo! Heard you were in town. Drinks tonight?’ it said. ‘Alright,’ I replied.

The bar was crowded, lively. There was a pleasant buzz of conversation about the place. I saw Eli before he saw me. I walked over to him and ordered a beer. He saw me, and gave me a big smile.

“How are you doing, buddy?”

“Fine.”

He nodded. If he’d heard I was here, I was sure he knew about my circumstances. Was he smiling so wide to make me feel better?

“How are you liking the city?”

“It’s loud, and the people are confusing. I found a good sandwich place though.”

“Hey, sometimes that’s all you need.”

“Yup.”

My drink came, and we sipped in unison. We made small talk for a while. We chatted about baseball games, local politics, his recent endeavors with women. We ran out of beer and each ordered another.

“So how’s your new place?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. It feels like everyone there is a joke at my expense. But then, I’m the outsider, right? Maybe it’s me who’s strange.”

“Are the neighbors nice, at least?”

“I think they’re at war.”

“What?”

“It’s the Sexists and the L-”

“The sexists? What kind of place have you found yourself in? Next thing you know it’ll be the neo-Nazi’s living in the floor beneath you-”

“It’s not like that. It’s just… complicated.”

Eli cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow a bit. “Ok then.”

Behind Eli I saw what looked to be a couple on a date. He said something that I couldn’t make out and she laughed. She put her hand on his forearm and looked into his eyes.

“Yo, you good?” Eli asked.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I was asking about the bass.”

“What about it?”

“Did you bring it? Are you still playing?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“Wouldn’t fit in the car.”

It really wouldn’t. It was an upright bass and it was substantial. When I’d left, I measured how much space I had left, and I measured my bass. It wouldn’t fit. It was still mine, anyway. I’d probably get it back eventually.

“So what are you doing for work? I’d imagine you’re done with that advertising firm?”

“I guess. I think it all just happened so quickly. I don’t think I even told them what was going on. But you know how it goes in small towns. They probably know what happened.”

“Have you gotten a call from anyone? Asking where you are, or whatever?”

“Nope. It’s funny. You’re my only link back to that life. I didn’t think I’d be this disconnected from it all. But it feels like there’s no landmarks. Nothing to look at and say ‘I know what that is, and here’s where I stand in relation,’ if that makes sense.”

Eli nodded. “It does, I think.”

“Anyway, I got hired at a new advertising agency easily enough. The whole process took three days. I do a little bit of graphic design, a little bit of copy writing. I think it’ll pay the bills, and I have savings from before.”

“Well then it seems like you’re all set. It’ll take some time to get comfortable, obviously, but it doesn’t seem like you’ve got any glaring issues to take care of.”

“Just one.”

“What is it?”

“This chord. I heard this goddamn chord yesterday. I’ve gotta meet the pianist.”

“You were in a band for years, you’ve probably heard just about every chord.”

“No, this one was different. B flat diminished, but in the context of the song it was-”

“What was the song?”

“No clue.”

We pondered this and sipped our drinks.

It was nice to see Eli.

On the way home I passed a grocery store and figured it was probably time to fill my fridge. When I got back I took my set of kitchen knives out of the plastic clamshell packaging and began to chop green onions. I put on my headphones and listened to a neo-soul outfit from the east coast. At the midpoint of the song the keyboardist played b flat diminished.

It didn’t sound the same.

After I made myself dinner I climbed into bed and set my alarm again. Tomorrow I’d go early. I’d hide if I needed to, and I’d finally meet him.

I dreamt of a golden retriever playing a lick on a saxophone. I was in a musky bar, and everything felt ok. The dog wasn’t half bad.