Air Conditioning

Tracy was the first to notice the crying. She was going through her change of life and the hot flashes were unbearable. She turned her air conditioning unit on in April. It brought her some relief. At first the noise was the usual white whirring she was used to, comforting in its sameness. After the first few days, however, there began to be the slightest, quietest, barely audible squealing mixed in with the whirring, like a belt was wearing thin somewhere in the machinery. It bothered her, but it was an annoyance and nothing more.

When Jesse, on the opposite side of the cul de sac, turned his air conditioning unit on in May, he noticed it right away. A barely perceptible “heeeeeeeeeee” that fluctuated and moved in ways he couldn’t follow. It was Jesse’s son Daniel, eight, who said “it sounds like someone’s crying.” Once he said it, Jesse could hear it, too. It was someone crying.

Nadine in Number 7 Chrysanthemum Crescent took a long time to hear what it was her neighbors were talking about. By June, Tracy, Marie, and Liz had all been hearing the clear sound of crying, sometimes sobbing, coming out of their air conditioning units. “Someone’s playing a cruel trick,” she said, and went back to cutting carrots into sticks for Caiti and Derrick’s lunches. That afternoon when everyone had finished their wine and gone home, Nadine heard it for the first time. She listened for a time, and then put on a classical music station on the house system. The strings covered the sound nicely.

On June 8th Jesse asked Liz if she had heard the sound in his house at the party on Friday. They were standing with their arms crossed watching the workers replacing his unit. She said she had, but explained that it was the whole street as far as she could tell. She looked at Number 2 next door and corrected. “Though I can’t be sure,” she said. Jesse nodded. No one saw much of Number 2, not the last few months. That night Liz discerned the first word in the whirl of sounds. “Whore.”

On June 20th, Marie heard a full sentence while she was listening in the restroom. “Why do you make me do this?” She flushed the toilet and left for the PTA bake sale. She had made dairy-free apple pie cups. They sold out in the first half of the sale. When she came home the familiar crying seemed louder than normal. It made her think of when she was a new mother and the crying never seemed to stop. Marie ate a brownie and went to bed.

On June 21st the ladies all agreed that the crying had been louder last night. It was Tracy’s turn to host. They talked about important topics, such as who was wearing too much foundation these days and what the biggest hit was at the bake sale. Tracy offered everyone rosé, cheese, sliced fruit. The ladies all agreed that the snacks were top notch.

On Fourth of July weekend the Crescent used the cul de sac to throw a block party. Number 8, Tim and Andrea, sprang for a bouncy house even though they didn’t have kids. It was a show of good will for the neighbors. Andrea and Tim had been hearing the voices in the air conditioning since June, but neither one of them would talk much to anyone about it. “I don’t see how it’s our business. It’s just a fluke we can hear it at all.”

Tracy and Bill thought it might be their business, especially since their three kids, Lucy, Bill Jr., and Andrew, were playing games about the crying woman in the air conditioner. The game spread through the bouncy castle and soon all the boys were saying “Look what you made me do” in their angriest villainous voices and the girls were saying “Please, don’t” in their sad weeping wilting voices. This bothered all of the parents very much when they heard it and the game was shut down. Cowboys and Indians seemed like a better use of their playtime.

The next week the sentences became clearer. “You’re always doing this! Making me hurt you!” “I didn’t mean to burn it, please don’t.” And crying. Always louder, always clearer. The longer the population of the cul de sac heard the crying, the clearer it became. Guests, on the other hand, didn’t seem to hear the noises at all. Marie had a regular book group that came on Thursdays, mostly other staff and teachers from the preschool. None of them ever seemed to notice. She wasn’t sure if they were being polite by not mentioning it, or if they genuinely couldn’t hear the shrieking cries and howling of blows hitting a body. Once at a particularly painful sounding hit, she thought she saw Meredith wince; she couldn’t be sure. She was pretending too, of course. She didn’t want to be the one to break the pact of silence. She wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

“Is it chilly in here? I’ll just turn off the air for a while.”

At the end of July the neighborhood finally got a name. A name they knew. Joanne. Joanne and Henry Lloyd of Number 2 Chrysanthemum Crescent. It wasn’t just the name they knew. They had known. In the same way that the voices had only become clearer when they were pointed out, so was the truth. Joanne in her long sleeves. Joanne with her hair combed down over her face, her heavy makeup. Joanne shut away in her house so often, not talking, not socializing. And Henry. Henry with his loud voice. Henry with his talking over people. Henry with his comments about lady politicians. And Henry with his white knuckles, his red knuckles, his purple and yellow knuckles. Sometimes he was cruel with alcohol, sometimes he didn't need it. They knew the name when they heard it “Joanne.”

In August the heat became unbearable. The children refused to play outside. It was too sticky, they said. The air conditioners were turned up to full power. The Crescent could hear every detail of what was happening in Number 2 every evening. Tracy and Bill sat in silence with Lucy, Bill Jr., and Andrew eating their healthy chicken dinners, all of them listening. “Can’t you stop that wailing!? Shut up! Shut up!” They were horrified and intrigued, but mostly stymied. What does one do?

Jesse was going stir crazy over all of it. He hated having that noise in his home. He had tried to fix it himself, hired repairmen, had his unit replaced, and had more repairmen over in as many months. He wanted the problem to be mechanical. There was some sort of baby monitor or radio device gone haywire. The repairmen always gave him strange looks as he described the problem, the crying in the air conditioning. They couldn’t hear what he was talking about. He sat crouching in his living room, crying, most of the afternoon. Then he changed into swim trunks and took Daniel to the pool.

On August 10th, it was Liz’s turn to host. She served Chardonnay and “home-baked” pastries she had actually bought from a bakery next to where Avery took his Karate lessons. Tracy talked about eating dinner to the morbid soundtrack of Mr. Henry Lloyd beating Mrs. Henry Lloyd. She felt certain that someone should do something. Everyone agreed. Something should be done. Liz mentioned that she usually put on some music or the news and that helped with the noise. “Oh,yes, it’s important to stay informed,” chimed in Marie. None of them would break the pact.

On August 18th the local weather reported record breaking temperatures across three counties. On Chrysanthemum Crescent it hovered around 108 degrees most of the afternoon. The humidity had almost entirely evaporated and the grass was brown and crunching underfoot anywhere a sprinkler couldn’t reach. At 2:15 pm most of the residents of the cul-de-sac were enjoying some sort of afternoon snack. Most were healthy and organic. One household was being treated to ice cream due to the heat. Everyone was comfortable in their air conditioning. At 2:17 pm the Lloyds started arguing. He accused her of resenting him for not making enough money. Joanne insisted that wasn’t true. Henry didn’t believe her.

By 3pm the temperature was up to 110 degrees, but the Lloyds were screaming at each other worse than the neighborhood could remember. For once Joanne was fighting back, defending herself. The blows sounded excruciating. Tracy thought she heard a bone crack. By 3:27 Marie couldn’t take it anymore. She turned off her air conditioning. So did Jesse and Andrea and Tim. Liz broke at 3:56. Nadine at 3:59. Tracy was the last. She turned hers off at 4:08pm with tears streaming down her face. She just couldn’t listen anymore. The families all sat in the heat, listening. When they heard, they all knew. And they all knew they had known. A gunshot echoed through the cul de sac.

And then another.

There was a moment of stillness in the road. The summer crickets seemed to stop, but there was no peace in the stillness.

They all knew.

August 23rd was Henry’s funeral. It was private. Only a few family members attended; none of the neighbors went.

The next day was Joanne’s funeral. The family didn’t have the money for one of the sleek coffins. They were surprised at the cost of such a thing. The pine box they chose was extraordinarily plain. It was an economical decision. The neighbors understood why it had been made, but everyone agreed, if it had been their family, they would have sprung for the nice coffin.

August 27th was the first day of school. All of the parents were glad to have the kids out of their hair. It was Tracy’s turn to host. She served Cabernet with chilled steak lettuce cups. They were a big hit. Everyone agreed.

***

Paige B. C. Douglas is an emerging writer and recent graduate of the Masters program in Children’s Literature with Roehampton University, London. Having worked for several years in publishing at Penguin Random House, as well as an internship at Triada Literary and independent manuscript editing through Reedsy.com, her focus is now on her own writing. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband Tim, daughter Eila, and two schnauzers: Story and Sequel.