Marshal Apego is searching. Crouched down, leaning on his haunches with his legs akimbo, he resembles his Stone Age ancestors on the hunt for game. His beige ottoman holds his weight without give, the leather cold and smooth under his bare feet. His hands fervently rub each other, as if he is washing his hand in air. Shaking them for a moment, Marshal scratches his unshaven cheek. Crusty bits of an indistinguishable solid flake off.
“I want to see,” Marshal cries staring out of his living room window that covers the length of the wall. He focuses on the cherry multi-paneled blinds, the fingerprinted glass, and the city below his Times Square apartment in succession. Smooth red-tinted wood, smudged transparency, and neon lights. Lumber, glass, and lost souls. Blinds, a window, and an unforgiving city. He stares at them, over and over, one after the other.
“Damnit, I want to see it all,” Marshal says. The instant he focuses on one object, the other two fade out of focus. Shifting his gaze to the next level, he finds the previous object is now indistinguishable. While he looks at the blinds he cannot see the city, and while he views the city he cannot admire the glass. He tried to focus on all three, but he cannot.
His front door is deadbolted; no one will be entering. If someone had opened the door at that moment, they would have seen a hallway of family portraits: two beautiful young girls and a stunning wife smiling with a suited gentleman. Then a long dining room table would come into view, along with a room-length window view of the city. Cards cover the dining room table: “We’re sorry for your loss”, “Feel better”, and “Our sympathies”. In the center of the table – amidst unpaid bills and withered flowers – lies a newspaper clipping: “Assassination Attempt at Banquet; Three Fatalities”. Had anyone been there to see these things, they would have continued around the table to find Marshal crouched over on his beige ottoman, staring off into oblivion, unrecognizable.
“Why didn’t I see it coming?” he mumbles into his dripping palms.
But no one came.
