Speaker System

Fiction

The cable allowed the speaker to rest on the brick wall bordering the front steps with less than an inch of slack.

The speaker itself hung slightly over the edge, but it didn’t wobble. One less inch of brick and mortar and it would wobble.

Running up the steps to his apartment to flip the vinyl would be good exercise, probably a pain in the ass and hip after a while.

Adam Morlock dropped the needle on the record and took the stairs down two at a time, balancing on the handrail.

The weatherman said record temperatures.

Frost and despair likely tomorrow. But for now, warmth, distorted guitars and melody.

He had already made one record flip, midway through side two, eyes half-closed, lip mumbling the words to--

“You just assume the whole neighborhood wants to hear your music?”

Adam opened his eyes.

“Ummm, I-”

“It’s kinda presumptuous.”

The woman had one fist balled on her hip and the kind of confident glare that told  Adam this wasn’t the first time she’d lectured a stranger.

“Cars drive down Joy Road booming their music all the time, “ Adam said.  “You yell at them too?”

“Sometimes, actually.”

“Well, I can’t drive away. So I guess you need to keep walking.”

The woman’s lips wrinkled and contorted in a way that looked almost painful.

“Did you just basically tell me to shut up?”

Adam stared at the step between his legs. 

Whatever tranquility he had attempted was draining like the end of the bath, when the shallow water makes the movement appear quicker.

The needle began to skip.

He’d owned the record since high school, his cat was a vigorous litter scratcher, but damn if it wasn’t lousy timing.

Adam stood, his right knee crackling like it was dirty vinyl, the metal ankle of his prosthetic left catching the unseasonably warm, bright November sun.

He turned and went up the stairs.

He cleaned dust from the needle, gave a lot of thought about what record to put on. Would the woman be less pissed if he played something mellow? Would it matter? 

Hot Water Music, he decided. Great band, not generally palatable to the masses. The move was slightly antagonistic, but it was his life, his apartment. She was probably already on the phone to the leasing office number on the front wall of the building, but they wouldn’t care.

Adam came back down the stairs and sat back down right where he had been.

The woman had relaxed. No fist, no hip, no scowl.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“About what? “ Adam asked. ”This band more to your liking?”

He couldn’t imagine anyone who liked this band telling anyone else to turn down their music.

“I don’t even know this band. No, actually. But I didn’t know…”

Adam started to laugh, low and staccato, like an out-of-tune Beetle starting up.

“Didn’t know about what?” he asked, knowing exactly what what was.

The woman flushed hard, looked away, looked down at her feet and then back at Adam, reluctantly.

“I didn’t know you were disabled.”

Adam let the laugh go, so loud he almost felt sorry for the woman.

Mid laugh he said, “The music and the leg have nothing to do with each other. You were pissed about the music, not about how many legs I got. Jeezus.”

The woman shivered, looked like she might be about to crack, but wasn’t used to losing confrontations. She looked sad. The sad slithered into Adam.

“Hey,” he said deliberately pulling the edge from his voice. “I’m guessing you’re headed to Meijers, that’s really the only thing up that way, unless you work at Liddle Plastics.”

The woman nodded.

“Look,” she said, “I didn’t mean to--”

“I don’t know what you meant to do,” Adam said. “But don’t. It’s music. It ain’t hurting anyone.”

“You move really well for a guy with an artificial leg,” the woman blurted

“Thanks,” Adam said. “But that’s not necessary either. You’re probably better off just letting people do their thing, ya know. There’s a bunch of dudes who hang out in front of the gym shoe store by Meijers that boom hip-hop all day long. Were you gonna tell them to turn it down?”

The woman shuffled her feet and shook her head.

“Probably not.”

“Good,” Adam said, “Because one of those guys is missing a thumb.”

He loved the truth in a good joke but felt a little guilty as the woman scurried silently down the street.

***

Photo by Austin Loveing on Unsplash