2004
Living Room
My family tells me I’m a recluse. A hermit. A loner. I believe I just prefer my own company most of the time. Comfort for me is the sound of my keyboard in the middle of the night as I pour my soul out on virtual blank pages. I talk to people. I do. So what if it’s through random messaging? Faceless, nameless strangers who always know exactly the right thing to say. Conversation is conversation right? This time it happens to be minus body language. Body language and complications. Most of the time I’m not being reclusive, most of the time I’m working. But I guess that’s what I just tell myself at then end of the day. I’m a freelance graphic artist, so I’m required to be on the computer a lot. I guess it just saves time if I do my socializing at the same time. I usually work right into the night, and I have a lot to do. So it’s not as though I can just call people to go out for a drink with me when I’m done.
It was during one of my all night sessions that she caught my eye. I stepped away from my computer for the first time in a few hours. Standing in front of the window, stretching, I looked out across the courtyard and saw a light in the window opposite mine. I was taken back at first, as the apartment had been empty for the better part of a month. I felt a faint pull of curiosity and I let my eyes wander across the light. After a moment or two, I saw her. She was sitting alone on a box in the middle of the room. Most of the apartment was dark, but from what I could tell, it looked fairly empty. Empty except for her and her box. She wasn’t doing anything, just sitting on the box and looking down at her hands.
I felt myself drawn to her, unable to move my eyes, I watched her carefully, waiting for her to do something. The longer I watched, the more I wanted her to move. She didn’t move. I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. She just sat. I considered for a second that she may be dead. Then I silently scolded myself as I realized there was no way a dead person could be sitting up. I leaned back on my couch and waited some more. I ran my eyes across her, trying to capture every detail, trying to read what she was thinking, noticing the way she was sitting, shoulders slumped. She looked tired, and almost defeated. She had long dark hair that fell across her shoulders loosely. I tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but she was holding her head too low. There was something pure in that moment, watching her from across the courtyard.
After what seemed like forever, I saw her move very slightly. She seemed to be shaking. It took a few moments for me to realize that she wasn’t shaking. She was crying. Small sobs at first, until she moved a little more, crying harder. I stepped back for a second, and reality caught up with me. I felt like I had violated something very precious. Seen something that wasn’t meant to be seen. She wanted to be alone. And here I was, stealing a piece of that. I wondered what it was that had her crying so much. Her whole body seemed to weep. A moment later, without warning, she turned and looked at me. Our eyes locked for a split second before it occurred to me that I’d been caught spying. I dropped down on the floor. I lay there for a few seconds, afraid to move, afraid that she might see me. I was blatantly ignoring the fact that she had already had seen me. Ignoring the way she looked up, our eye contact.
After what felt like forever, I crept up slowly and peaked out the window. The light across the courtyard was out. The girl was gone. The window was dark. I could almost pretend that I hadn’t seen her at all. Pretending was easy, except I couldn’t shake the image of her from my mind. And I couldn’t shake the way I felt as her eyes burned into mine.
The next few nights, I would casually walk past the window, trying to glance into her apartment. Trying to see her, to catch another glimpse. The windows stayed dark, her apartment stayed empty. I began to worry that I had scared her off altogether, and the morning after our little encounter she marched right down to the real estate agent and demanded her bond back. Then I caught a peek at her apartment during the daytime, and I noticed there was a lot more furniture; a couch, a lamp and a television. The apartment was looking lived in. I never seemed to see her sorting or moving or even coming and going. It was almost as though the furniture began to appear on it’s own.
It wasn’t until a few days later that I saw her again. I was walking across the court yard, when she walked in with a huge box. I looked at her and felt pins and needles claw their way up my legs, until finally my face was burning. As we passed, she glanced at me and a look of recognition crossed her face. She looked at me, and I guided my eyes downwards and started walking a little faster. “Hey!” she started. I gave her a half smile and walked away as quickly as my legs could carry me. I almost ran back to my apartment, not daring to breathe until I was safely inside, door bolted behind me. I leaned against the door for a few seconds, breathing softly. Finally I made my way over to the window and looked across at her. I could see her moving about, organizing things. She seemed happier than she did the other night but then again, given the mood she was in the other night, anything would have seemed happier.
On my fifth trip to the fridge that night, I glanced across and saw her light on. Just one lamp, light filtering across the couch. She was sitting on the couch in the same defeated position I had first seen her. This time, she was sitting with her knees up, her elbows resting on her knees. She seemed to be starring out into nothing. I could see her face this time, and my heart went out to her. For the first time in a long time, I actually wanted to reach out to someone. I wanted to go over to her, to take her in my arms, and nurse away whatever she was feeling. I wanted to wrap my arms around this complete stranger and hold her until that look of despair left her face. This girl, this person, whose name I didn’t even know, seemed to shake something deep inside of me. Seemed to speak to something deep inside of me. I imagined myself going over there, knocking on the door, talking to her, laughing with her and eventually even getting to know her.
I grabbed a spoon and a tub of ice cream from the kitchen. Chocolate ice cream is my inspiration food. I sucked on a lump of ice cream while I ran through different possibilities in my head. Sure I could go over there, but then again, what would I say? “Hi, I’m your crazy neighbour. I live across the courtyard, and I noticed you were crying the other night. Remember the other night, when you caught me staring through your windows?” Brilliant. Great conversation starter. I’d be thrilled if someone made an effort to tell me that. I sighed heavily and threw my spoon in the sink. Talking to her was pointless. Thinking about talking to her was pointless. I flicked the computer on and settled in again for the evening.
After that night, I begin to give up on the idea of talking to her. I found comfort in the light spilling out of her apartment. Occasionally, I’d look across and see her going about her day, or night incidentally. One night, I could hear shouting, and then the sound of breaking glass. Without thinking, I hopped up to the window and looked out over the courtyard. I could see her talking, or perhaps yelling at someone. After a few moments they must have left, and she threw herself onto the couch in a huff. After a moment, she got up and walked over to the window. She looked at me for a second or two before turning and leaving the room. I sat back at my desk and tried to focus on my work again. After a few minutes, I heard a knock at the door, and my heart leapt. I walked over to the door quietly and looked through the peephole. The girl from across the courtyard was standing at my door. I stood still for a few moments, barely daring to breathe. I considered pretending I wasn’t home, but I realized that she had in fact seen me only moments before hand, and my light was in fact still on. I started to work out an escape plan when she knocked on the door again.
I took a deep breath and pulled the door open quickly. We stood there face to face for a few seconds. Pins and needles seemed to creep down from my hair line, and I my face was burning. I prepared myself for the worst. After a moment she cleared and throat.
“I was just wondering if you’d like to have some ice cream with me?”
I looked down, and she was holding a tub of chocolate ice cream.
