"Well, the ceiling… how do I say this?... it fell.”

The gasp on the other end of the phone made me consider my words. Then I cackled. I forgot that falling ceilings were a much greater concern where I’m from; living in Bali just had me used to seeing patch jobs around properties.

“This must be a Bali thing,” I said between my maniacal laughter. My mother was still in stunned silence on the phone.

There had been torrential rain the previous week and I had watched the ceiling in the kitchen acquire a massive leak. I had gone down to the kitchen every morning watching the water leak get progressively worse, until one morning, the ceiling lay on the floor, along with parts of the stove. Staff was cleaning up the mess and another tenant was in the kitchen looking aggravated.

When I saw the hole in the ceiling, I exclaimed, “Oh!”

“Yeah,” said the other tenant.

“Morning Miss!” staff greeted me with their usual smiles.

“Morning!” I replied with a little concern in my voice, then turned around and walked back upstairs to order breakfast.

I wish I could say this was a one off experience, however, one of the previous guest houses I stayed in also experienced the ceiling coming down in another tenant’s bathroom. She had sent pictures to the landlord of the ceiling looking like it was falling. The landlord had said it was fine. The next day, the ceiling was on the floor. It had taken several days for workers to replace the planks of wood that made up the bathroom ceiling, and that tenant had to find another location to stay at.

“Are you okay?” my mother asked.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

“Do you know when they’re going to fix it?” she asked with apprehension.

Today, there’s still a hole in the kitchen ceiling of the place I’m currently renting. There are no planks of wood to replace, and I have no idea when or how they’ll repair it. Now, I make my breakfast, wondering if anything is going to fall on my head or in my food as I cook.

FROM THE AUTHOR (Jessica Drake)

Conversion copywriter for business coaches, ghostwriter for student papers (allegedly), and smutty author ...for science.
I started writing stories at eleven, editing people's work at eighteen, and charging for words in my thirties.

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