I don't mean to toot my own horn or anything

Sep 09, 2009 21:43


but I am damn proud of this.

My scuffed sneakers hit the wet pavement with smooth rhythm, determined to get to their destination. A particularly loud rumble of thunder echoes off the tall buildings making me quicken my pace as I tighten my jacket around me, searching for extra warmth that isn’t found in the folds of fabric.

My worn out laces cause me to trip over the familiar threshold and stumble into a mostly dark room shutting the door behind me with a firm slam, the wood expanding in the rain making it hard to close. A sigh escapes my lips as I shrug out of my drenched coat and shake my hair letting the droplets fall to my shoulders soaking into my thin t-shirt. The soft light from the kitchen beckons me to it like a moth to flame, dragging me towards the heat radiating from its glow. Before stepping onto the hard wood floors I toe off each shoe onto the rug to dry out before the need to wear them comes along. As my feet make contact with the polished floor the cotton of my socks make me glide forward ever so slightly and I let myself take a moment to revel in the way it makes me feel like a kid again, sliding into the counter to try and steal a bite of whatever my mother just pulled from the oven. When my hands touch the coolness of my empty counter though, I’m brought out of that almost trancelike state and thrust back into harsh reality. I shake my head to clear it of any stray thoughts from my past. I’ve found it best to try and push those away before they bubble over in my mind, making my regrets pool around my head and slip into my conscious. I slink over the fridge and pull out a bottle of water and some Chinese food I’m almost certain has gone bad. I hurriedly heat up my leftovers and make my way to where the torn flowered curtains hang over a finger print covered sliding glass door. Carefully balancing my plate and water I open the unlocked door with my foot and step out onto the damp balcony. The wind is blowing the rain at an angle but not enough that the overhang is completely useless, and not enough for me to miss this. I flop down into the beaten up lawn chair that has somehow found its way into my possession and put my food on the ground in front of me on a welcome mat I’ve laid out.

I hear a soft murmur of voices and I fidget in my seat, the shows about to start. What I have here, spread out across seven stories and twenty-eight rooms, it’s the best show you’ll ever witness. It’s better than anything you can see on TV, in a movie, even Broadway can’t get better than this because it’s all true. There’s no script. It’s all live. I have anything you might be looking for, entertainment wise, just an alley away.

You want drama? Third floor, second window from the right. A couple in their mid thirties. He does something with cars, so right now money is tight for them. She’s a nurse, I think, on the late shift. Last week they fought for almost twenty minutes and it ended when she threw one of those tall vases at him, flowers and all. She fixed the cut it left over his right eye and they pretended to still be in love for the rest of the night.

Maybe something a little more light-hearted? That would be fourth floor, fourth window from the right. A young guy who looks like he hasn’t seen a barber or a shower in months lives alone with his fat cat. Most days he sits on his couch smoking the day away with that cat on one side and a bag of Cheetos on the other. The simplicity of his life is what really draws me in. In my mind he’s content and happy. Not a care in the world, just his overstuffed feline and poor eating habits.

Want to know another great thing about this whole fixation? I can lie. I can tell myself that the man on his couch is carefree even if he’s really just feeling lost and alone. I can pretend the wife on the third floor is a really horrible woman so I don’t feel so bad about her husband cheating on her while she’s saving lives at the hospital. I can lie and make their lives so much better than mine.

Up for a comedy? The sixth floor first window puts on the best. Two gay guys and their straight friend live there. I see the straight one skateboarding down the street a lot; he probably does it to get away from the dancing queens he’s living with. The divas like to blast Michael Jackson and attempt the moon walk across their kitchen floor. They can’t, but always end up laughing together anyway or shouting encouraging cheers when one of them comes close to The King of Pop’s maneuvers. This always puts a smile to my face.

How about a sitcom? There is a family of four that lives on the second floor third window from the right. Every night they eat dinner together. All of them gather around the table and share whatever is in the casserole dish. They smile and laugh while talking over their day. Sometimes I can’t stand to watch them. Sometimes it makes me sick. Sometimes it just makes me jealous of those kids and I bet they can’t even grasp how what they have together is so rare.

I don’t think any kid gets how incredible a family dinner can feel, I know I didn’t and I have that pang of guilt as a reminder. I used to have them all the time, taking them for granted. I was greedy. It’s a real treasure to have someone ask you what you did today not just because they want to tell you how theirs was, but because they genuinely care. And as I sit alone in my secondhand lawn chair, I recall what I really miss most about home because even if I didn’t want to talk about my day, it was still nice to have someone ask. I left a good place and didn’t even know it till I was gone and I’m too stubborn to go back now.

I’m here because I wanted to be a part of somebody’s story. I wanted to be in somebody’s tale; somebody’s recall of last night’s events. I wanted to be talked about. I wanted people to say, "Oh, you’re the one he keeps telling me about", when they met me. I wanted to be in windows across the way. I had this uncontrollable hunger to feel camaraderie. I thought that if I was somewhere new, somewhere where nobody knew who I was, I could meet people, make friends but the one thing I hate to admit to myself is I was truly happier where I was. All I have now is this sick obsession with watching people live their own lives instead of living my own, watching other peoples stories, watching other people like me get what they want, watching them get talked about.

My eyes flicker across each of the windows, taking them all in at once, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if any of the occupants would consider having me for dinner. What would they do if I just showed up as an unexpected guest and asked them if I could sit at their table; they wouldn’t even have to feed me. I’d pay any price they’d name, just to have that feeling of belonging back.

I take a sip of water trying to calm myself, trying to come across a fragment of good in this situation. I put the bottle back down on my mat and chuckle to myself at the irony that I don’t even feel welcomed here, that I’m begging to be welcomed anywhere. When my mother came to visit she said how useless having a welcome mat on my balcony was, that the only people who would see it would be thieves trying to break in. I then informed her that if I had put it in front of my door, it would be stolen. She hasn’t come back to visit since.

When I hear the door behind me sliding in its tattered tracks I tip my head back over the chair to look at the upside down version of my roommate coming outside to join me.

"Hey," she says.

***

"Hey, are you even listing to me?" the demanding voice coming from my phone transports me from my day dream.

"Yeah, sorry. I guess I was in my own little world again," I apologize trying to bring my head back to the present conversation.

"I asked if you’re excited about moving in."

"You know I am. As soon as high schools over, you’ll see me," I promise, to myself and her.

"You’re going to love it up here. The people in the building next to mine are a riot, they’re almost better than TV."

My teacher told me she wants me to write more on this because she "loves my voice". She asked this of me yesterday and when I came in today and told her about my five or so ideas her eyes just kind of lit up and I got this amazing feeling like I'm finaly doing something right.
Previous post Next post
Up