Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

FROM MY WINDOW
I’m on the mend. The toddies have finally worked their magic. My head is slowly clearing and I almost tasted the peach in the yogurt I had for breakfast. One more day of domestic therapy and I’ll be right as rain. Having watched all the videos in the apartment, and having burned myself out on 70’s music, I sit in front of my window, overlooking the alley where the bully lives.
I don’t know if the people coming up and down the alley can see me, I can’t really see them clearly, they’re too far a way. But I can tell colors, sizes and saunters the entire length of the alley. I initially opened the window and sat down to get some fresh air. Its nice out and the breeze feels just like spring time. I haven’t stared out this window for a long time, probably six months or more.
Hanging from my window sill are six thick, black wires. Occasionally the wind blows them against my window and scares me. They’d make a pretty good emergency exit plan, they’re anchored into the brick building outside from top to bottom. The window itself is on a rope and pulley system, with the glass smeared from years of previous paintings. My building is about 100 years old, and the raw wood of the exterior sill is dry and rotting with age.
Currently a tall man, dragging a large rolling suitcase and wearing a green sweatshirt and ball cap, obviously down on his luck. He peeks into the dumpster and mutters to himself, then stops dramatically and slumps over the dumpster, hanging his head for several seconds. Whatever he picked out of the trash he was satisfied with, he tucked it into his pocket and grabbed his rolling suitcase, which he drug to two other dumpsters in the alley.
Dozens, nay, maybe hundreds of wires zig-zag the width of the alley, draped from pole to building to pole, and the backs of the homes that face the alley way consist of backdoor stoops, dumpsters, and basement windows, where people inside could peer directly out onto the street at people as they walked by.
I sipped my tea and pondered brilliant thoughts…I hear a lot of noise and commotion that goes on in this alley, but i’ve never actually watched.
The first local appearance is the youngish girl in gray spandex-like pants and a tank top. I couldn’t tell if she wore flip-flops or no shoes at all. She scampered down the small porch and threw her bag in the dumpster, then ran back in before the door had time to fully latch and lock her out. No sooner had she closed the door behind her, than a fat squirrel appeared on the top of her dumpster. He burrowed his nose through the split in the lid, and disappeared into the dumpster.
Day has turned to night and again I wonder if they can see me. I sit several feet back from the window, with the radiator and my elegant curtains separating me from the window sill. I’m disturbingly curious about the bully who lives in the alley. Two days after I moved in, I was walking through the alley to go to 7-11. I heard a car start down the alley a little way, and stopped to pick up what I thought was a dime in the road. Within seconds of realizing it wasn’t a dime, I looked up and a rusted old red car was barreling down the alley toward me. There was a large black woman behind the wheel, with her hair tied up on her head, but thick pieces were blowing around her face as she began yelling obscenities at me. I had no idea why she was so mean to me, but it frightened me and I quickly ran back into my apartment. I’ve been nervous about the alley ever since, and keep hoping I might catch a glimpse of the bully, maybe to figure out what makes her so angry.
But there was no sign of the bully in the alley today…

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January 27, 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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