This post was inspired by Rebecca and her most recent post at Through the Looking Glass. Her thoughts on voyerism brought back some deeply buried memories of my first apartment with my husband.
The little blue condo was in Provo on 5th West around 6th South, just south of the train tracks... literally the "wrong side of the tracks"... only 20 feet away from the tracks... so close to the tracks that if a train came by while we were watching a movie, we had to pause it because the volume on the tv didn't go high enough to be able to hear it over the crossing bells, the train whistle and the deep rumble. (One of our daughter's first words was "choo choo" and she is still a very deep sleeper!) Our upstairs neighbors were also newlyweds, and their bedroom was directly above ours. Can you see where this is going?
When they had sex it was so loud, it was embarassing when we had company over. One day (in the middle of the afternoon) I was on the phone with my sister when they started going at it. I held the phone up to the ceiling and she could also hear everything. It was THAT loud.
These people were in our married student ward and everything. It was hard to look them in the eye at church, (I was going to say ..."and coming and going" ... inappropriate, but true!) After a few months of this, my very socially-capable and diplomatic husband finally went upstairs to tell them outright how much we could hear, and could they try to keep it down? We figured they would be more embarrassed about it than we were. He even gave them some rubber washers to put on the screws (Ah! The double-entendres!) on their wrought-iron bed frame that squeaked as it banged against the wall. Their non-reaction was priceless: "We got married so we could have sex, so we don't care." It didn't ever really get any better (for us) after that.
Eventually they had the baby they had been practicing making for so very, very long, and they moved away. We were surprised that we actually kind of missed them... We felt so close, like we had truly shared so much with them, like we were truly "intimate" friends, even though we hardly ever talked. I'm sure they didn't feel the same. To spare them, we always waited until the train came by... ;)
6 comments:
I stayed in that condo many times and remember fondly how the pictures rattled on the walls every time a train passed. Fortunately, I was never there for the orgies on the 2nd floor. I do remember the people who sounded as if they were moving large statuary pieces around at 1 in the morning. Didn't they live there right before the loud Mexican all-night party givers?
I had all but forgotten about the marble statue moving noises. Yes, those were the same people.
I still can't decide what was worse: listening to their personal life, or the next tenants who were most definitely drug dealers (yes, in Provo!). We often got knocks on our door late, late at night being mistaken for the dealers upstairs. Then there were the 40 or so people that all lived there together, and the abusive relationship... We only had to call the cops a couple of times...
Ahh, yes. Don't you somehow miss all that excitement in your life?
OH MY GOSH...that is the funniest story. Oh, you crack me up!
Sorry, the "comments" feature wasn't working the other day. Now I can make my comment...
Yes, that was a TINY apartment, but so full of love! I think I had heard the "love" couple over the phone before. I DO NOT miss apartment living. The only way I think it would be cool would be if it was in a cool city. I'm sure you would agree that Provo is not that city.
Here's to single family living...hooray America...
So funny. I just saw this (I am slow)... thanks for the shout out. Your story is GREAT.
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