The Audio Files

It's infinitely interesting, the kinds of human drama you pick up when no one is aware you're hearing them. When you live in an apartment with a high volume of residents like I do, unintentional eavesdropping is optimal as is camouflage from the world I absorb, being on the third floor with high railing. Sitting quietly (and most often pensively), I employ the balcony in my apartment as a way to escape, but am privy to other bullshit-ery while doing so. It's people hearing, instead of people watching, a modern day equivalent to the radio soap opera episode, if I were spinning the dial and tuning in at random. I ignore it as best I can to preserve my sanity and their privacy , even if it's they themselves that are shouting TMI whilst clomping around in noisy shoes, at all hours of the night. I hear snippets of salacious stories, odd/comical sound effects, and routine living sounds of those I live feet from but know nothing of. It's a very surreal connection, a far cry from the old school days of knowing everyone on the block and their life story. I know the busy business, but wouldn't be able to place them if I saw them around. If I were so inclined to get some surveillance gear and start up an investigation firm, I'd have a prime perch to do so. Thankfully for those ne'er do wells around me, I'm not.

By the ebb and flow that social life affords, I don't have much time out and about these days, albeit by choice. It's frequently, briefly lonely, and that can stagger even the strongest after a while. Without the ebb, the flow doesn't mean much though, you know, that whole thing. You would think that hearing juicy tid-bits would be all the more welcome, but not really. The fact that I'm trying to just BE in my own space, not around others, makes it slightly more annoying to be jarred out of thoughts, movies, or phone conversations of my own by those in the same residential boat. You think they'd realize and empathize.

It IS amusing to internally riff on the statement, "I hate you guyzzzz....you me drink that shot of Jager...if you think I'm drinking more yur crazzzy." slurred to the heavens by a nameless, faceless neighbor/friend of as she scuffles past the first wing and farther into the bowels of the complex, most likely to pass-out or even more likely, drink more. It's funny to hear the unmistakable sounds of a car hit the speed bump at way too high a speed in the courtyard parking area, then screech to halt before plowing into the loud and rickety motorized gate that "protects" said courtyard. I can glean a chuckle from an almost fist fight between party going alpha males over a coveted late night parking spot. A candid-camera type commercial in my routine.

Then there's the sobering stuff. Among the worst, a domestic dispute between a young sounding, Jerry Springer-y couple next door. Hearing the sound of a slap connecting on the jaw of the instigating female in the equation, accelerating my own heart rate, sending adrenaline and frozen alertness down my spine. It's not my boyfriend, or my jaw, but for an instant, it feels that way. A police helicopter circling the building with increasingly low altitude, having no idea if it's something to be concerned with or to just shrug and hope they are out to catch the right man, whomever they're after. The sounds of neighbor kids being despicably mean to one another, all the pain recalled instantly from your own catalog of heartache, from when you were that age. The sound of an unhappy baby, wailing it's little heart out, spiking your blood pressure despite your lack of responsibility or knowing of he/she (it's a medically proven thing that baby cries=physical stress). I feel like I should know these people, for all the residual static. I've been secretly, inadvertently, included. We should shake hands or trade a recipe.

At the most intense times I want to lean over the railing and answer whoever is shouting obnoxiously, just to shut them up. Just to see if they really want an objective answer. Just to see the look on their face to hear a polite response to a rhetorical question. I wish I could beat up the would-be bullies for those bullied just below me. I wish I could console those that I hear having a bad day, toss them a cupcake or something.

Maybe that's the whole point to what I hear, how it impacts me. The day I stop noticing is a big red flag for my own humanity and empathy for others. When lives are broadcasted, I can send back my own quiet prayer for them or a subtle appreciation in whatever way. If I were to actually let them know I've heard them, it might be embarrassing or awkward or slightly dangerous maybe. So I'll maintain my silent sporadic vigil. All in all, it's good imagination fodder and good reflection fuel, even as I curse the momentary loss of (the illusion of) autonomy.

I'll keep smiling, grimacing and musing to myself, and remember to keep the personal crisis on the low when I get back in the flow myself. Either that or I'll holler a good sea shanty or dirty limerick, for all those fellow fellows in earshot.