Ask Her

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Life behind the glass is different but never boring.

 

The birds look at her intently, but not as intensely as she does at them. They flutter so close, but she can't grasp them. Not with the glass. That barrier stops her. It always stops her.  Her gratitude for its presence is great, but that doesn't mean she doesn't dream, occasionally, to explore the other side. Fear conquers her dream. But she mustn't dwell.

The neighbors always ask what's wrong. Those who don't know her ask why she sits in the window; those who do know her ask when she is coming out. I have no answers for them.  Not any that they would be willing to listen to or believe.

There’s nothing there for her to see. They shout at me like it is a question I'm suppose to answer. They wait for confirmation and support. I never give it to them. They don't know how wrong they are.

It's like she's in a movie theater. I feel like an usher, never stopping to fully see the  movie but getting an overall idea of the plot based on bits and pieces of dialogue and the audience's reactions. Occasionally as I pass through, Ill listen to her as she gossips on the phone  to her sister. She is convinced that the young girl who lives in the upstairs apartment of the blue  house across the street is a hooker. “She only goes out at night!” she yells. “Only at night!” My  attempts to convince her that the woman may simply have a night job, like a nurse at the  emergency room, fall on deaf ears. “No, no, no! She never leaves the house during the day. Not  at all. Never. That just isn't right.” I can't help but laugh. Any logical reason that is shown to her is cast aside. The unrealistic ones are more fun. I suggest that the woman is a vampire. She  scowls. The next day a silver cross hangs gently around her neck.

The family on the corner is always on her radar. They don't even have to be doing  anything because they are always doing something. They cannot be saved. They are already too far gone. The husband is a raging alcoholic, and the wife is abusive. Not to the kids, to her husband. Maybe that's why he drinks. I am warned never to associate with  their children. I would be lost into eternal damnation. They are nothing but a group of hellions.  It isn't their fault she says, it was their upbringing. But nothing can be done now. It is too late.

The neighbors are exciting, but the most fun is the unexpected. When the red and blue lights start flashing and the sirens begin wailing, the world outside her window seat becomes an episode of “COPS.” The view is perfect, except for the trees. She curses them when they start to  sway in the wind and obstruct her view. They never stay too long. I think they fear her. 

Phone in hand, she searches through her envelope of numbers trying to find anyone who will listen. Her voice rises higher and her frantic cries increase the longer the episode goes on.  “Oh, oh my. I think they're putting him in handcuffs. Damn, I bet he has drugs. This town is so  full of those damn drug dealers. I don't know what this world is coming to. Drugs didn't exist when I was young. Where the hell did they all come from?”

She watches them all. She observes what everyone else simply brushes aside. They watch her back. The birds, the neighbors, the cops. Each one sees something different, obstructed by  the glass. 

 


Submitted: June 06, 2021

© Copyright 2021 weepingwillow. All rights reserved.

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