About last night

We never thought we'd say this, but we miss Emily.

Oh she of quiet ways and always with the rice cooking. Oh she of no carpets and one couch. Oh she of complaining every couple of months or so about noise.

We met her when we moved in last March. She looked harmless, this Emily. We assured her that we were the quiet type and she wouldn't be bothered much by our ol' man ways.

There were some issues nonetheless. One time, when we were particularly carried away with a riff that kept dancing through our head, she knocked on our door because of the noise. We didn't answer because we feared, you know, being shot, but we got the point. No geetar in our bedroom, which is directly over hers, late at night.

Another time, two of our best friends decided to challenge each other to a wrestling match in our living room at 2 a.m. Granted, we were asleep (i.e. "ate girl scout cookies in the kitchen, staggered to the bed and passed out with our friend Rudy," but that's another story for another day). Emily wigged out and shouted outside the door for them to stop the hip-tosses over the couch.

We left a note apologizing for Wrestlemania and we moved on. We learned to strum on the porch and early in the evenings. We learned to coexist.

Then she moved out two months ago.

Now, a smart ol' man would have taken advantage of the situation by hosting two months of keggers, because that's how long it took the complex to fill the apartment. Now, not so much with the keggers, but we delighted in late night jam sessions with ourselves, and the ability to sit down in our chair early in the morning without waking Emily up ("Do you lift weights early in the morning?" she once asked. "I hear lots of banging. Very early.").

So now we have a new neighbor, and here's what we've deciphered so far: he's a large lad who played lacrosse in college. We know this because he walks across his non-carpeted floors (and therefore, against complex rules, though we love us some hardwood floors) and he has a lacrosse sticker on his jeep.

We also know that he has a girlfriend. We learned this last night at 11, when we were settling into bed and heard the following:

"IT WOULDN'T BE THAT WAY IF YOU WOULD HAVE PICKED IT UP!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WANTED ME TO PICK IT UP! F*CK YOU!"

"COME HERE."

"NO."

(stomp stomp stomp stomp stompstompsto--).

"OW. HELP! HELP!"

(muffled voices).

And END SCENE.

Now, she didn't die and he didn't kill her. The clatter was swift, really. Though we stood in the kitchen in our skivvies, armed with our cell phone, peering out the window like an ol' hag and ready to call the proper authorities should our new neighbor kill his dame, silence became the night.

Boy do we miss us some quiet Emily.