DOWNSTAIRS

My living room has become a gigantic resonating chamber for the apartment below. Every word, every television show, every belch is felt through these floorboards. Every thought voiced aloud to friends on the phone becomes the soundtrack to my life. I first noticed some 'sweet' spots in the living room, but it was so cluttered. The chair and the sofa stopped too much of the vibration. The coffee table dampened the ring of 30-20 kHz tones, so I moved them all to the bedroom. The quality of the reception improved ten fold once the carpet came up. The hard wood of the bare floor became a diaphragm, focusing everything into a single spot in the center of the room. Placing my ear to this spot, I can feel everything; a single breath, a tear rolling down my neighbor's cheek when that long distance phone commercial comes on. I know what people must have felt the first time they huddled around that large wooden box and listened to those early radio plays. Suddenly, at the spin of a dial, they had access to a whole other world. I wonder if any of them became obsessed with it. Never leaving the side of the radio for fear of missing something important. Listening to these faceless strangers in their homes. These strange sounds of someone living a wonderful life somewhere far away. So close they could hear it from the comfort of their living room.