The young lady who lives next door, she's been all alone since her parents died. Since that day she's rarely seen outside. When she is seen, she's wearing only black. She looks silly this way in black, when once she was so fascinated with colors. She used to dye her hair an assortment of unnatural hues. She would don the unusual - hats of all sizes and shapes. Feathered scarves, gloves, stockings, and blouses that would envelope her slender adolescent body. This was the Miss Monterray everyone knew.
Hard to believe she's a full-fledged adult. Legally, the house was hers. She was taken care of. Still. The neighborhood has been in a fret of watching over the young Miss. There is something precious about her; one cannot help but to care for her, the delicate flower. Fact is, she grew up in this neighborhood. Watching her was like watching the embodiment of time. Once a tiny girl with big hair, big voice, big smile. She would come around selling cookies, dressed in costumes on Halloween, singing carols for Christmas—everyone knew Miss Monterray. But that girl is no longer. Circumstances changed her.
Two weeks after the event a strange man moved in. Late-twenties, glasses, lanky frame. He looks like he might be a relative. He has the same characteristically dark curls the Monterrays seem to posses. He drives a Cadillac. Has that annoying habit of whistling a showtune as he fiddles with his keys. After his arrival, the rest of the neighbors left her in peace, contented with the stranger's ability to look after her.
She is smiling again. But it’s not the same girl.
This is all evident to Elijah Gallagher as he looks out his window. How he wishes he alone could comfort the Lady. Alone in that big house...
***
Summer is quick in her procession. She arrives with a passion fit for the town of Bridges. The heat is stifling, the sky a lazy haze. The flowers are blooming, the bees are buzzing, and the people of Bridges are gathering at the boardwalk, the beach, the rivers--under trees, in pools, atop balconies.
Elijah sits idly underneath a fan in his room working on a sudoku. Anything to keep his mind from thinking about his life—his parents’ divorce—college paperwork—her. Beauty in human form. He caught a sight of her last night, through his window. The perfect view into her life.
Her walls are a vibrant green set off by dark mahogany furniture with fluorescent pink and orange décor. Dozens of fuzzy pillows, stuffed animals, raggedy dolls on her bed, on display on her shelf, her desk. There are posters too. Of foreign, indie bands. But the best feature of this layout was the mirror. One of those classic, long mirrors, it is set up against the opposite wall, parallel to the window.
Elijah watches this mirror like one would a television. Through it, he’ll catch a sight of his flower lying down, reading on her bed. Or pacing around, talking on the phone. Sometimes, he catches her dancing. Other times, she’s brushing her hair, or doing her makeup. But always, always she’ll undress.
Elijah doesn’t mind. But what he doesn’t know, is that she’s watching him through that same mirror. Those wide pair of eyes peeking through the window just above her bare shoulder. Nice eyes. Wandering eyes. Hungry eyes. She never feels violated; rather, times like those she feels admired, a performer with an audience. She liked those eyes, and that mirror was the source to the confidence she needed day-to-day. It was her affirmation. And for Elijah, for Elijah, that mirror was—that mirror was his window to a different world. A world he will never know.
Like the others said, you really do have the writing style of a professional. Very sophisticated and lyrical.
