The Child Upstairs

A note to the small child who lives upstairs

Dear Child,

I begin this letter with an admission of guilt. I am guilty of not realizing what it may be like to live in a condo with a unit above mine. You see, I have always lived in the units at the top. Perhaps when I was living on the top floor, I too, made noise that was bothersome to the residents below.

Now, I am the dweller below and you are a young boy, full of energy. I'm sure you wake up each day, ready to spring into action. While I sit there, each morning, hugging my mug of coffee, watching my dog cower in the corner, because there is a monster (it would seem) trying to break its way through the floor (my ceiling).
What, may I ask, are you doing up there?

Does your mother not notice the running, jumping, catapulting off furniture? Oh, I'm sure she learned tune that out years ago. Does she feel badly when it sounds like my ceiling will fall down? It wouldn't seem so. What about when you run, back and forth, back and forth, until your little dog starts to bark like a banshee? Does she notice then? No.

The last time I saw your mother, she looked tired. So tired, in fact, that I wasn't sure I could ever so much as mention how much noise you create, for fear of pushing her right over the edge.

So, what's a girl to do? Eventually, maybe I could tune it out, like your dear mother. In the meantime, I stare at the ceiling (your floor), cursing under my breath, willing you to stop.

I am taking solace in the fact that school starts in two weeks. I'm sure your mother is, too.

Sincerely,

Your downstairs neighbour, who will not be baking you cookies at Christmas.

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