My very first thought this morning looked like lumpy oat meal. That dull,
off-white colour of utter incomprehension in those first few moments before
your brain actually wakes up and the coarse feeling of having absolutely
nothing in your head. I groaned and turned over, trying to shake off the
confusion. That was when I saw the clock and I sprang out of bed with a yelp.
My mind cleared in an instant and everything became razor sharp:
Test
at nine.
Had had a burst of inspiration and
stayed up till four.
Writing.
Not revising, writing.
Clock said seven-forty-eight.
Had
the fastest shower in I’m-going-to-be-late-for-that-class history
and dashed out the door without getting my coffee fix. Of course the District
Line chose today to have a signal failure and I was stuck on platform three at
Earl’s Court for close to fifteen minutes. Got off at Embankment station and
ran down The Strand like a bat out of hell, all the while asking myself how I
had managed to sleep through my alarm. In my defence, it really was the fault
of the little mad man upstairs!
Dr.
Spurgeon raised an eyebrow as I rushed into the classroom. I gave him a
sheepish smile and made my way to the back of the class. All the seats at the
front were filled and I had to endure the feeling of what my logical mind knew
were imaginary but which my not-so-practical mind said were a million eyes on
me, all the way to the far corner. I took my seat and tried to concentrate on
the single sheet of paper in front of me and nothing else, actual or perceived.
Q1.
Write a pseudo-code for the RANSAC algorithm.
That
was all I needed to wipe from my mind all thoughts of…
The little mad man upstairs,
My neighbour, whose little flat lies
directly above me,
Whom I hardly ever get to see
Or hear from for that matter,
Until he goes into one of his mad fits!
As
I hurried out of the classroom, I clumsily dropped my folder and sheets of
paper flew everywhere. Adam, a course mate, gave the jumble of formula sheets
and music notes a puzzled frown.
“Are
Engineers not allowed to enjoy good music?!” I snapped defensively, gathering
everything in one pile and stuffing them into my hand bag. It was bad enough
that my friends couldn’t seem to figure me out and thought I was weird. I
didn’t need reminding. He gave me an embarrassed look, pushing his glasses up
on his nose. I felt a tiny stab of guilt and smiled apologetically at him.
“How
was the test?” I asked.
He
shrugged, poking at his glasses again. The gesture made him look sweet and
childish, not like the genius he was.
“It
was alright. How did you do?” he asked.
“Good
I guess. Just got the last bit of the cross-relation mixed up.” I said. That
was the bit I’d been revising last night before my neighbour happened.
I usually have a few days of peace and
quiet
Before a bee ruffles his bonnet and he
gets all hippity.
He starts to mutter and fidget at
first, and then to thrash
I usually just ignore him, pretend he’s
not there,
Pretend I can’t hear him, shut him out.
“Oh.”
He said and shifted from one foot to the other. And back.
I
mentally shook myself and brought my mind back to our conversation.
“I’m
sure you’ll do okay.” He said finally and I shrugged.
He
shrugged right back. Left foot. Right foot. Glasses. Look anywhere but at me.
Glasses.
“I’ll
see you around.” I said and he nodded and poked at his glasses again. He did
the little jig with his feet a couple more times, like he couldn’t quite make
up his mind whether to leave or stay. Or maybe he was just trying to figure out
how to leave. I smiled, feeling embarrassed for the both of us.
“Okay,
bye!” I said, sounding way too bright and walked around him out the door.
I
hurried down the stairs, preferring to avoid the crowd of students waiting for
the elevator. On the second floor I walked towards the department of Humanities
and past the Chapel. Tucked away in a corner behind the students common room
was the old music room. My guess was that someone had thought the old piano was
not worth the trouble when the faculty of music moved to its own building at
the Waterloo Campus. I had discovered the room one day during my first semester
when I’d gotten lost trying to find one of my lecture rooms. I might have a
good ear for music and an eye for calculations, but give me a map and my brain
gets muddled. To me, every tree and every street corner and every corridor
looks exactly like the next one and I wind up lost the way a tone-deaf person
sings a wrong note.
I
turned on the lights and walked to the lone shrouded figure. With a satisfied
sigh, I pulled off the covers and ran my fingers over the keys. Somewhere at
the back of my mind was the thought that I should have picked up a coffee on my
way here. That thought conjured up my mother’s disapproving look. She never did
understand my ‘unbalanced’ relationship with coffee like she liked to call it.
Same way she has absolutely no idea I write. Sorting through the
sheets in my bag, I found the two pages with Satie’s Gymnopaedie. As the first
few notes rang out in the empty room, my thoughts looked like a double-shot
latté. The smooth creamy brown of peace and serenity, the velvety feeling of
being awake and alive in every single pore of your being…
Then he starts to pound and scream
until I can’t bear it any longer,
Until I have no choice other than to
open the little door
And let him out,
Let him come crashing down the stairs,
With all his madness,
Like a whirlwind, wreaking havoc in his
wake,
Celebrating his freedom through my
fingers…
I
let the final notes die out, my eyes closed and I sat in the ensuing silence
for a while, just enjoying the feeling for as long as I could. With a sigh, I
raised my head and peeked at the clock that must have been overlooked because
of how high up on the wall it hung. I realized that if I didn’t get a move on,
I was going to be late for Advanced Calculus. Literally pulling
myself up by the boot strings, I got up and pulled the sheet over the
piano.
Like a storm flying over paper,
I pour him out, every last drop of him,
I let him run free as the words flow,
Only then can I have some peace,
Only then is it silent and serene again
upstairs,
Upstairs in my head…
…until he gets mad again,
And I just have to let him loose again,
Pick up my pen…
My
phone beeped and when I checked it, I saw I’d received a message from Rob.
Hey! Hope you’re fine. Don’t forget
dance rehearsals at 6:30. And today’s a special treat, it’s Salsa Baby!
See you there!
Oh
good. Something else to look forward to. And one more thing my mum
is blissfully unaware of. I took one last look at the clock before I turned off
the lights. Oh well, my coffee was going to have to wait until later. I didn’t
mind one bit though. I’d had a good day so far and it could only get better
because I’d had another burst of inspiration and I was already itching to put
the story down…
* * *
Well,
I don’t usually turn up late for tests or classes and I almost never sleep
through my alarm, but I do love coffee and music and calculations and dancing
and a host of other things that don’t quite fit together.
I
guess I read just as much fiction as academic materials even though I haven’t
ever written any Sci-Fi stories. I’m not too sure of the reason for that, it’s
probably a thought worth chewing on. Yes (unfortunately), people think I’m
weird and half of the time, my friends can’t figure me out. I do stay up late
at night when I get a story in my head because I’m usually at my best at night
and I wrote ‘The Little Mad Man Who Lives Upstairs’ on one of those nights.
Hope you like him, I'm not so sure I do!
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