The middle neighbor: alone but never lonely

At first glance, living in the middle apartment out of a three-story building (with paper-thin walls) might not appear to be the most desirable location.

I have two roles. I am both the upstairs neighbor and the downstairs neighbor all at once.

I am tasked with making sure I’m not “that” upstairs neighbor; we all know the one. The urban legend that seems to spend her days roller skating across the floor and dropping marbles at excruciating intervals.

I am also blessed with my upstairs neighbors’ soundtrack. This sometimes involves midnight strolls through the creaky hallway above my bedroom or colorful conversations in Albanian at 7 a.m.

In short, I love it. I really do.

I don’t know either set of neighbors too well, but at the same time, I know them intimately.

I only recently met my downstairs friends (a young Sudanese couple with a three-year-old) when I took shelter in their apartment during the August tornadoes. I have also had a few conversations with the retired couple upstairs (a retired couple from Albania).

But I know much more than that.

For example, my downstairs neighbors cook a spicy meal every Sunday. They listen to spiritual music some nights, but it’s only loud enough to hear if I’m lying on my floor (sometimes you just have to lie on the floor and contemplate life). They used to take their son to daycare and warm up their car first, before everyone started working from home. Their alarm goes off promptly at 6 a.m.

My upstairs neighbors lead a totally different life. They vacuum every Saturday morning, at the bare minimum. They go to bed after I do, and they rise earlier (which I didn’t think was possible). They have a lot to discuss, and sometimes on the phone, since I can’t always hear the other person talking. If I knew Albanian, I’d know everything they ever discussed.

And then there are the neighbors to the side of my apartment. We share a hallway wall. I’ve never seen or met them, but they like to transform their apartment into a club on Friday nights, especially since Covid hit. If they aren’t professional DJs, they should be.

I think I’ve also given my fair share of information about myself, too. In the winter, I use my treadmill daily, hoping with each mile I run that nobody is sleeping or working directly downstairs. I wonder if either parties appreciate my Spotify playlists (especially the ones where I loop the same song for hours). I hope they don’t mind the restless pacing or the loud Zoom calls. I’m the first one to leave the apartment every day, opening the screen door that only closes with a loud snap.

While we all live separately, our lives overlap. The setup is a beautiful combination of privacy and community. I’m alone, but I get the benefit of smelling a home-cooked meal I didn’t make. I can listen to a conversation in the background. I can feel like I’m out on a Friday night when the neighbors get the party started. It’s an introvert’s dream: alone but never lonely.

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