“Is it going to turn into a moth?”
She laughs, making me feel dumb. “No. It’s amonarchcaterpillar. It’s going to turn into a monarch butterfly.”
“You know a lot about caterpillars.”
“I’m going to be an entomologist when I grow up,” she says.
“Wow. You’re a lot smarter than I was at your age.” I realize after I say it that I’m not exactly sure how old she is. I don’t think I could say a big word like that when I was in the age-range I assume this kid is in.
“Don’t feel bad,” she says. “You know a lot about the weather, and you’re on TV.” She stops coloring for a moment to look up at me. “Do you think I could be on TV one day?”
“Maybe if you work really hard studying your bugs, you’ll get your own TV show where you get to teach other people about them.”
She smiles wider, exposing a couple of missing teeth. “Would you watch it?”
“Of course I would.” I watch as the kid returns to coloring. “Where’s your mom? Does she know that you’re out here all by yourself?”
“I’m not all by myself,” she says. “He’s watching me.”
The way she says it makes me feel unsettled. I check over my shoulder, wondering if there’s someone I missed, or if the kid has an imaginary friend. I’ve always been creeped out by children who have imaginary friends. Seeing no one, I force myself to ask: “Who is watching you?”
She uses a crayon to point through one of the front windows of the building. I spot Joel sitting behind the security desk. He waves his fingers at me. Okay. I feel better now.
I straighten up. “I guess if you’re fine out here, I’m going to go upstairs. Don’t talk to strangers, okay?”
I head inside.
“Playing babysitter, huh?” I say to Joel.
He shrugs, reaching his hand into a large jar of pickles on his desk. “Might as well. Not like I have anything better to do.”
I can’t help but think that’s probably true. The man is at the security desk day and night, it seems. I feel a little bad for him, but I imagine he makes a lot of money with all the overtime he works.
When I get to my apartment, I can hear the usual loud noises coming from the apartment above mine. Now that I know who it is, I listen more carefully. It sounds like something heavy is rolling across the floor, followed by several running footsteps. I decide that these sounds can’t possibly be from two kittens. He has to be messing with me or something.
I head to my speaker and turn on some music. A minute later, my phone buzzes.
Husky Eyes:Can you turn the volume up? I’m having a little trouble figuring out what song is playing.
Naomi:There you go. Is that better?
Husky Eyes:Much better. The kittens love Britney Spears.
I snort out a laugh.
Naomi:This isn’t Britney Spears.
Husky Eyes:Seriously?
Naomi:It’s Shakira.
Husky Eyes:Oh. Well, the kittens love Shakira.
There’s some more thumping on the ceiling that I can hear even over the music. I listen for a moment, noticing that it seems to be moving along to the beat.
Naomi:Is that you dancing up there, or do the kittens just have excellent rhythm?
The thumping stops almost as soon as I send the message. Then my phone buzzes again.
