Hot Water

With far too many things in her hands–per usual–Mariah struggles to unlock her door. As she juggles the bags in her hands, she accidentally activates the singing welcome mat her neighbors have outside their door. While it is seasonally appropriate, complete with a reindeer that has a string of lights tangled in its antlers, it is awfully loud… especially when trying to tiptoe in late in the evening. But this was no matter, as her neighbors are on vacation for three weeks.

Eventually stumbling into her apartment, she thinks to herself, damn, I’m glad my neighbors aren’t home to hear that struggle.

“Goose!!!” She calls out in a sing-song voice as she jiggles her key free from the lock on the outside of her door, just to manually turn the lock button into the upright ‘locked’ position from the inside.

While still trying to manage all of her bags, she slips out of her heels after a long day. She then sinks her feet into her soft, squishy ‘Wicked Good’ sheepskin slippers and trudges up the stairs. The thump, thump of two feet at at time landing on the floor, followed by a faint meow emerges from the bedroom as she flips the light on at the top of the stairs.

“Hiii, baby! How are you?!” she says mellifluously in exchange for another meow.

She sets all of the bags down in the kitchen until it is time to start unpacking and sorting through their contents. Since COVID, the first thing she does–without fail–when she walks through the door is wash her hands. Goose weaves between her legs as she walks to the sink. She lifts the handle to turn the water on and cranks it to hot. She fully anticipates to wait the normal 40ish seconds for the cold water to flush through the pipes and the warm water to arrive. But when she habitually flits her fingers under the running water expecting it to send shivers through her already cold body, much to her surprise, the water is warm. More than warm, it is already hot. Without giving it too much thought, she pumps a glob of rosemary soap into her hands and lathers until her watch buzzes against her wrist, alerting her she has done a good job completing the task.

While drying her hands, she goes through everything that needs to be done, making a mental game plan: deal with today’s lunch dishes, put the groceries away, feed the cat, pour a glass of wine. No, no, no, priorities. Wine, groceries, cat, lunch dishes. No, if I don’t feed the cat first, he won’t stop meowing. Okay, feed the cat. But still wine first. Ah, indecisiveness at its finest! She thinks to herself.

She grabs a bottle and cranks out the cork with her fancy wine opener. She pours the thick, red liquid into her elegant iridescent glass and watches as it clings to the side, slowly trickling down to the rising pool at the bottom. She goes on about her evening chores–intermittently sipping her wine here and there–with the intent of getting to bed early. Albeit, this is always her intention, and it seldomly happens.

After she feels as though she has completed everything on her list for the evening, she rinses out her wine glass and sets it off to the side of the sink. Grabbing the sponge, she does one last sweep around the sink to wipe down any water spots. She reaches for the light switch on the wall and does one more quick scan around the living room and kitchen. Satisfied with her tidy up job for the evening, she flicks the switch off and heads into the bedroom.

Cat in tow, she walks down the hallway to her room. Her muscle memory led her to extend her arm and begin to feel the wall for the light switch, but suddenly she realized–the wall was already illuminated. She turned her gaze forward to realize that the balcony light was on. But how? That light switch is on a different wall, and there is no way she would have accidentally switched it this evening, she hadn’t even gone past that wall. She looks around to see if someone else was there. But as if that was going to do anything, she knew there wouldn't be. It isn’t like she has a big place, and there is no way to get in aside from the locked door. So she resumes her original motion and turns on the bedroom light. She gingerly walks across the rooms, still feeling slightly unnerved and turns the balcony light off and heads into the bathroom.

I wonder if I flipped the light on when I got up to go to work this morning. She grabs the toothpaste and squirts a generous amount of the charcoal mintiness onto her toothbrush. No, I got up this morning with enough time to go for a walk… it was dark when I got out of bed. I would have noticed if the light was on. She spits the black mess into the sink. I definitely would have noticed if the light was on this morning, and it certainly was not. She grabs the hand towel and pats her mouth dry.

She continues to ponder this situation while she goes on about the rest of her nightly routine. There is no way I would have turned that light on, I am sure of it. As she lathers her face with cleanser, wipes it off, and moisturizes. She scoops a teardrop amount of lip sleep mask onto the edge of her sparkly pinky fingernail before swiping it off with the same finger on the other hand and lathers it on her soft, supple lips. She takes one last look in the mirror, assuring herself that there is no way she turned the light on before turning in for the night.

• • •

The next day is more of the same. She wakes up, makes sure not to turn on the balcony light, and sets off for another day in the life. She sets alarms for early, snoozes her alarms approximately 18 times, drags herself out of bed, and pulls on leggings, sports bra, and oversized tee. She sleepily stumbles into that bathroom and hits the light switch. She looks at her groggy eyes reflecting back in the mirror. Just as she had done the night before, she grabs for her cleanser. She does this routine opposite than in the evening. She lathers a heavy dose of the white, fluffy product all over her face and neck. With her eyes closed tight so as not to get any soap in her eyes, she feels for the hot water handle. She pulls the handle to turn it on and slips her fingers under the stream of water. As usual, she expects the water to be cold. On any other morning, she would blindly rinse her face off and then brush her teeth while waiting for the water to get warm. But evidently, this was not like any other morning.

The second she slipped her fingers into the cascade of water, she yanked it back like a slingshot. She let out a verbal “ouch!!” The water was hot. So hot that her fingers pulsated after she pulled them away. She stood stunned for a moment. Finally, she snapped out of her surprised state and cranked the cold water on to balance the temperature. While she collects herself, she grabs a washcloth and runs it under the now lukewarm water. She washes the soap off of her face and just stares blankly into the mirror. There must be a problem with the water heater. She grabs her toothbrush, brushes her teeth and finishes up in the bathroom. I will have to text my landlord later and have him take a look at the water heater today, she thinks.

She slips on her socks and shoes and sets off for her walk. After coming home to change for work, she goes on about her day. The rest of the day commences as normal. Commute, work, errands and the drive back home. The only thing worth noting is that she did text her landlord, and to her further confusion, her landlord let her know that he and his handyman went over to look at the unit and said that everything looked perfect. He wasn’t sure what was causing the water to be hot, but it wasn’t the water heater. In addition to this, she was sure it wasn’t anything to do with her neighbors since they were gone for the week and wouldn’t be home for another two.

That evening she had plans to have a couple friends over. So as soon as she accidentally sets off the singing mat again, slips her feet into her slippers, and greets her cat, she comes upstairs. She was planning on preparing some hors devours for her guests, so she has to get to it right away, as she only has about an hour. She goes to the sink to wash her hands before getting all of the goodies she bought yesterday out of the fridge to begin chopping and arranging. This time, she is actively thinking about what the temperature of the water will be before she plunges her fingers into the stream. With a deep breath, and a little wish that the water will be ice cold–so that she can put this silly situation to bed and have some peace of mind–she sends her fingers into the water, their presence altering the way the water moves. Damnit. Hot again. That is just so weird!! But this time, she cannot afford to give it much thought, she has things to do. So lathers up her hands, letting the soapy suds run down the drain. Next: wine.

Before long the company texts to alert her that they have arrived. She runs downstairs, unlocks the door to her apartment and lets them in. After they come through, she is sure to lock the door behind them–force of habit. After a couple hours of visiting, laughing, drinking, and munching, they prepare to leave. As they begin to gather themselves and do the “oh, thank you so much for having us, this was lovely” before accidentally delving into a new topic, she nonchalantly mentions the happenings that went on yesterday and carried into this morning. She almost instantly regrets it. She didn’t really want to bring it up… she didn’t want them to think it was a big deal. Because it isn’t a big deal. Right? Perhaps she thought that if she said it out loud, it would bring a sense of reality to the situation that wasn’t necessary. Because again, it is nothing.

Once she let the juicy details slip, though, it instantly brought intrigue and of course, it became a bit of a thing. Perhaps it is a generational thing, but it does seem that if there is something that is at all mysterious, people these days seem excited to jump at the chance to stir the pot and jump to conclusions. So, somewhat expectedly, the speculations started flying.

“Do you think it's a ghost?” Theo offered.

“No, what if someone has been sneaking in?!” Emma suggested.

“What if someone has been watching you?” Theo contributed again.

As if Mariah didn’t regret bringing this up before, she really regretted it now. Of course this speculative clan wanted to do some investigating. So they asked her to bring them to the balcony so they could see the light switch and of course go outside. Reluctantly, she brings them down the hall and into her bedroom. She shows them the wall where the light switch is, and emphasizes that it is all the way on the other side of the room, and nowhere near any other light switches. Next they turn to look at the French doors with a light silk curtain draped elegantly inside of them. She flips the light on to illuminate the translucent cloth. Her friends eagerly push them aside and reach for the door handles. They have no issue pushing them open because the door is not locked. One by one, the three of them file out onto the not-so-small balcony that is located off of Mariah’s bedroom. Their breaths appear ghostly in front of them. It is winter after all. This also explains the several dead plants on the floor–mostly houseplants along with the occasional herb. Few plants can survive winters outside, and your average houseplant or unsuspecting kitchen herb are definitely not among them. They all take in the view. Not that it is necessarily something to write home about, but hey, a balcony is a balcony. Immediately below and all around is a roof. Not just any roof, but a tin slanted roof. It almost looks as if there is a big slide all the way around. Since the earlier speculations led the group to outlandish thoughts, they all started talking about the different ways it would be possible for someone to get on the roof. Ultimately, it was decided that it would be impossible. Despite there being no ladder to even get to the roof, even if someone found their way up, the tin would be too slippery for someone to scale up. And most of all, there is too much distance between the lowest part of the ‘slide’ and Mariah's balcony. Just as she begins to breathe a sigh of relief–after having begun to freak her own self out with all of these wild theories–one of her friends notices something.

“Hey, what is that?” Theo questioned, pointing his finger.

They all turn their attention to the outstretched finger pointed towards the ground. Regardless of the fact that it was about 20 degrees outside, they all froze. Sure enough, in the direction of the outstretched finger, was something that definitely did not belong there. It was a sandwich. A half eaten sandwich. Surely something made up of some sort of deli lunch meat, cheese, and lettuce. And it was tucked in the base of one of the dead plants.

“Maybe it was a bird?” Emma finally broke the silence.

“Or maybe a squirrel?” Theo said reservedly, trying not to upset the balance of this delicate moment.

Suddenly, Mariah's shoulder that just moments ago felt a little lighter after the reassuring realization that no one could possibly climb up onto her balcony, now felt very, very tense and heavy. What could it mean? How could that sandwich have gotten there? Even if it was somehow something that had come out of her trash, it definitely wouldn’t be that, as she was gluten free and didn’t even eat bread. Could it have been a bird? A squirrel? Why place it so particularly? Was the animal trying to bury it? To hide it? Or was the animal much more human altogether?

Of course at this point, Mariah was shaken. But as before, part of her didn’t want to admit it, she didn’t want to add any weight or validity to the situation. But she also didn’t want her friends to keep talking about it and inevitably add to the stress of the situation. Because no matter how she spun the situation, honestly, there was no chance that she wasn’t a little scared. So she somewhat hastily ushers them out of the bedroom and downstairs towards the door. As they are all walking down the hall, Theo and Emma both offer for Mariah to stay at their apartment, but she insists everything will be just fine. She thanks them for coming and tells them she will keep them posted on the situation.

“Have a good night.” She bids them adieu as she closes the door behind them. As she was sure she had done the night before, and every other day before that, she closes the door. She gives it an extra shove just to be sure she hears the latch click into place, and turns the lock button into a locked position. With less umph in her step than usual, she goes back upstairs.

Whether or not it was a good decision, Mariah grabs the nearly full glass of her wine on the counter and downs it. Quickly. In a manner of trying to forget the situation altogether. At least for the night. She has work the next day, so the last thing she needs is to stay up any later than she already has. She puts some music on as another layer of distraction and bustles around the kitchen. Distractedly moving around the kitchen, she puts the uneaten food in separate containers and in the fridge, rinses out the wine glasses, and gives the counter a good wipe down. After giving the apartment a once over, she flips the kitchen light off. Hesitantly she heads down the hall and into the bedroom. She was glad to see one of her friends must have closed the curtains before leaving for the night. Admittedly, Mariah didn’t want to go anywhere near those doors. While walking into the bathroom, she did notice that her pace increased when walking by the doors, but she tried to just chuckle that off.

Mariah rushed through her nightly routine and laughed at herself again as she scurried past the door and jumped into bed. It would be a lie to say that she slept easily that night. But after some expected tossing and turning, she did eventually fall asleep.

She hears her phone buzzing with her alarm in the morning. Instead of snoozing it far too many times, she was wide awake with the first alarm today. She laid there wide awake for several minutes, reviewing the happenings of the night before. Between the few glasses of wine, the energy of her friends, and the cold, dark evening outside, Mariah convinced herself that everything about last night was an overreaction. There had to be some explanation for all of it. Without wanting to give it anymore though she determinedly gets out of bed and into the bathroom. It was the same song and dance as usual. She smears the cleanser all over her face, closing her eyes in the process. By way of muscle memory she turns on the water and grabs for her washcloth. As soon as she puts her hands in the water she yelps again with the insanely hot temperature. Now she is just getting pissed. Having exhausted all of the possibilities explanations, this is nothing but frustrating anymore. She feels her fingers throbbing from the temperature of the water. With more aggression she brushes her teeth and finishes up her face routine. With one more look in the mirror she decides that is just going to have to be good enough for today.

With a turn on her heel she turns to go back into the bedroom. Muttering annoyedly under her breath she goes to her dresser and begins to find clothes to wear for her walk when just as soon as she opens the door, she stops. Instantly. Something isn’t right. It feels as if someone is in the room. By the balcony. Her stomach turns and heat rises into her face. At a pace far slower than she even knew possible, she begins to turn around. Before she can fully turn to meet the strange face standing in front of her, the man opens his mouth and begins to speak.

“Have you been enjoying the hot water?”