15. The Strange Man Upstairs

Date Written: February 5, 2019

Date Posted: June 15, 2019

Characters: Veneziano

Summary: There's a strange man upstairs who has fresh paint on his clothes and smells of freshly cooked pasta.

Notes:

The child wasn't all too sure who the strange man in the apartment upstairs did for a living.

The child wasn't all too sure if the man ever lived upstairs.

Sometimes, the man upstairs would stay for up to months at a time, joy and laughter ever present on his face. He would smile and say hello to his neighbors and disappear into his apartment with fresh paint on his clothes and smelling of freshly cooked pasta. Other times, the child would notice that the man would disappear for weeks on end. Those were the weeks when the child noticed that the building he lived in seemed to be so much quieter, almost sadder without that strange man's presence.

When the child asked his mother about the stranger upstairs, she said—

"Don't worry about it, caro. He's a busy man."

The child was unconvinced, but heeded the unspoken demand in his mother's voice. He was not supposed to ask anymore questions about the strange man who lived upstairs.

For a time, the child was absorbed in his studies and his playmates.

But that was only for a time.

You see, just a few days ago, the young child had returned home from school so that he could eat lunch with his parents. On the way back to his floor, he accidentally crashed into the man's tall legs, a small shriek announcing that he had fallen onto his rump. Much to the child's displeasure, the young man from upstairs chuckled before helping him onto his feet.

"In a hurry?" His voice, cheerful and chiding at the same time, shocked the small child to the core.

In all the time he had ever seen the man, the young child had never heard him speak. Sure, there were times when his parents might have uttered a good morning and the man must have surely responded in kind because his mother always said that the stranger had such good manners, but the child had never heard his voice directed at him. There were also times, sometimes, in the dead of night and when the child was trying to sleep, but could not, that he would wander towards the balcony and hear the most wistful voice.

It was both the most beautiful voice that he had ever heard, but the most sad. On those nights, the child would end up in bed well rested, but with tears staining his cheeks. To hear the melodious voice without the characteristic lilt of singing was an utterly strange experience.

The child didn't want to come off as rude, so he said, "Yes, sir!" And because the child was just as curious as any child should be at that certain age, he asked, "Why are you always leaving? Don't you like it here?"

And that man, that strange man who never seemed to stay still, whether it be in his apartment or in real life, bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet. His eyes held a sort of paternal warmth that the child usually associated with his father. For some odd reason, the child found himself comforted—he didn't find it all strange that this wonderful man elicited the same feelings of warmth and security that only parents could create. Perhaps, if given time, the child would have pondered such a strange occurrence, but he was still a child and that meant paying attention to what was happening in the present.

"Of course I do! What a strange question." The man laughed to himself before ruffling the child's hair. "Off you go for lunch. Hurry, or else your mother will yell."

The young child puffed up his chest indignantly. "My mother—"

Just then, there were voices coming from the staircase and he could hear his mother's shoes clacking down the steps. From the urgency of her steps and the annoyed mumbles, the young child could tell that she wasn't pleased by his antics.

"Seems that you are wanted." The man gave another grin, this time a bit more bashful to show that he was sorry before gently pushing the boy in his mother's direction. "Perhaps I'll answer your question next time."

The child huffed. "Fine."

And with one last wayward glance and a wave, the young child retreated into his mother's scolding embrace.