Through The Window

Having a window is a privilege that allows me to spy on people. I get distracted thinking: What are my neighbors doing? Who are they? Why are they walking their dog at 10pm? Where did they get those shoes? And I feel a small thrill of excitement snake through me thinking about the answers.

I’d describe myself as an observer. I don’t keep track of individual people. Dogs maybe, but not people. I pay attention to patterns, like how the morning walkers start rounding the bend when the temperature bumps above freezing, how the bus with its squeaky brakes stops religiously at 3:30 pm each afternoon, or how the lunchtime walkers move with more purposeful strides. I think sometimes looking out the window lets me measure the temperature of the neighborhood. The day after a rain the street is more crowded. People skip through the magnolia leaves the rain has knocked to the pavement near our front yard.

Sometimes on a cool spring night I’ll slide the window open and listen to the chaos and din of the outside world filter into my room. As I lay in bed I wonder how fast the street racers fly down the highway in the inky blackness. A sense of freedom and fear graze over me.

The hoot of an owl sometimes floats through the window and thunder rumbles in the distance in the oppressive summer heat.

When fall comes and the temperature starts dropping at night, I snuggle deep under my covers trying to ignore the muted sounds coming from my latched window. A car alarm down the street sneaks through the glass and my ears strain for noises from our carport to indicate a forced entry. My breath paints fog on the glass when I get up to press my face close to the window, searching through the cold for the source of my fear.

The world outside my window threatens to disrupt my peaceful breathing, as curiosity and excitement and angst build worlds from what I see and hear. Even when I’m sheltered behind the glass, I have to remind myself to breathe deeply, to calm my whirling emotions. I laugh at my ridiculousness, because a body won’t just let itself stop breathing. But I can never seem to do it right.

It makes me curious if I’ll be able to breathe at all, from the wonder of it, when I find myself on the other side of the glass. Maybe today will be the day.

Advertisement