Karen Schauber

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Just Another Monday


Annika yanks open the scissor gate of the lift and glimpses her Super exiting her flat. What the hell is he doing in there. Is it even legal for him to enter. She shrinks back into the shadows, the naked bulb overhead flickering and hissing as the Super slithers down the hallway, his long fat monitor tail slapping from side to side.

Did that creep just come out of your apt, Una, her tipsy newly widowed neighbour asks. Una doesn’t wait for an answer. She shuffles towards the lift in dodgy high-heeled booties, her senior mini-Shih Tzu Bambi in tow, dribbling a thin streak of yellow. Una’s bare arm stretches like Gumby as she tugs on the oversized lever, jerking the metal cage door closed. The whir and grind of the worm gears screech then fade as the lift descends from one floor down to the next.

Annika hesitates outside her door, afraid to enter, afraid the sanctity of her home will scream violation. Another defilement to contend with. Only yesterday her dealer, the jaundiced one with the perpetual hard on, had wanted more; his hand snatching at her crotch. She wanted to say no.

She turns sideways, skinny as a nail. If only she could disappear. Ole Mr. Woo’s ghost from 4C is rattling his teeth like chiclets. Says Chef Boyardee, SpaghettiOs, and orange-powdered cheese and macaroni are not real food. The poor fellow’s lifeless body was found whacked in the back alley, but he keeps coming back to badger her to eat.

Annika tracks a handful of pill bugs—part shrimp, part kangaroo, and part armadillo—scuttling along the baseboard, their exoskeletons moulting on the threadbare carpet. Her heel raises for the crunch; eager for the satisfying percussive sound but decides against it. Slowly she nestles her shoe back down in silence……everyone deserves a break.

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Banner Art:
 Vasily Ledovsky, Untitled Photograph, Unsplash, 2021