To The Girl Whose Bedroom Shares A Wall With Mine,
Last week, I heard your door shut. I thought it was my roommate coming home, but when I went to check, no one was there. I thought it was just in my head. Yesterday I heard you sneeze. I said “bless you,” but again, no one was home. I assumed it was the TV that my roommate leaves on occasionally. Last night, I heard your voice for the first time. You were on the phone with who I’m assuming is your mom, judging by the tone of your voice, telling her about your frustrations of the day. How is she that loud? I thought. It was as if you were laying right next to me as I was trying to go to sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on something else, all I could think about was how loud your voice was. Suddenly, I sat straight up in my bed, shocked and paralyzed by one single thought: you have definitely heard me have sex.
I’m not trying to brag or anything, but I’ve been getting it pretty regularly lately. I have a pretty good situation going on with a guy from my anatomy class last semester. He’d come with me on the weekends, and sometimes our “study sessions” got, shall we say, hands on. We’ll roll around in my creaky bed without even a second thought. My room is a whole living room away from my roommate, so the world is our oyster, and my oyster is his world. With my roommate at her boyfriend’s most nights, I can be as loud as I want to. I can laugh when there’s a strange noise. I can let him know when he’s doing something right, which is often (again, not trying to brag).
Not for one second did I consider who was on the other side of that paper thin wall. How many nights were you woken up by my drunk giggling? How many times did you swear you were going to buy me a new bed just so you didn’t have to listen to any more squeaking? How many stupid conversations were you a witness to? It’s not always sunshine and rainbows when the two of us are together. There have been a few fights. Mostly alcohol induced and resolved quickly, but what a double whammy. Listening to a fight and then make up sex sounds like cruel and unusual torture. I would just like to say that I’m sorry.
- I’m sorry you had to hear all those reluctant blow jobs.
- I’m sorry you had to hear that one time I called him “Daddy” as a joke.
- I’m sorry you had to hear me cackle for several minutes afterwards.
- I’m sorry you had to hear that one time when he tried to put it in my butt and I ferociously protested.
- I’m sorry you had to hear my bed slam against the wall so hard it almost made a hole.
- I’m sorry you had to hear us have sex in the middle of the day. And the middle of the night. And first thing in the morning.
- I’m sorry my dog barked for a half hour because he thought I was being attacked.
You have been there through the ups and downs of this relationship, whether you wanted to be or not. You sat quietly by while every cringe-enducing, toe-curling, unspoken-of sound seeped out of our bodies. Not once did you clam jam me when I came home drunk and horny, begging this guy to flop on top of me before either of us passed out. If I ever see you on the street, I hope that my embarrassed lack of eye contact lets you know that I know what I’ve done, and I appreciate everything that you’ve done.
That Loud Girl You Always Text Your Friends About.