I like my window. It lets in the sun that stabs the cold dark air in my room, lets sea salt walk to my nose, guides the waves of chilling breezes that kicked the boats along the big puddle outside my window to my face. My kind window keeps me sane, reminding me of that little place beyond these few inches of my wall, the street by the sea and the castle on the cliff behind it. I often see boats slapping the crests of water as they shove through the waves, thinking they won’t capsize and sink. And if one does sink, no one will care. Because the important one came out, the sailor swam away. The sailor lived, the boat died. Yet the boats keep on sailing. Moments like this are when I pull my roses away from the glass, I give in to my eyes that want to see the world in all it’s glorious horror, that drama of reality, and wonder why no one mourns the boats. Then there are quieter times, times before and after the boat sinks when a second story window is the most interesting thing to look at, and peering eyes look in. It’s then I put my roses up against the window in such a way to hide the world from my room.
At the times when I keep the roses there, I have to try to forget that world outside and not peer out to the street. Looking at my roof, I’m always drawn to that one knot in that one board. It looks like a dog. Except it only has one ear and lacks a body. The eyes are too big, the mouth is a bit strange, but really, it looks like a dog. All the other boards don’t have anything in them, they don’t have anything other than the bare minimum necessary to hold up my roof, but that board has something else. It has a dog. No reason to have a dog, but it does. That little non-necessity is all I have to look at in my room, in my house; my leaf green walls are blameless, my desk has no faults and I hate them both. A dog barks from beyond these perfect walls. Roses are moved and I see a dog on a rope hopping across the sidewalk and a woman in a blouse pulling the dog from the street and with her other hand she holds the brim of her sunhat on against the wind. The sunhat is a different blue than her blouse, yet she wears it anyway, her Terrier is much too excited for her liking, but she loves him anyway. My nose whiffs the glass as they pass, my eyes follow them, and I wonder why she would live the life she lives as I forget the life I claim as my own. And the woman looks up and sees me wide-eyed like a child on school bus passing an ice cream truck. I put my roses back.
Those petals will die, the stems will turn black, they will lose their scent, and then I will see the boats and the people on the street again, and hope that something more interesting is happening than me. Beyond the sea is the little castle on the cliff, that lovely abode of solitude and safety. I would much like to live there. Strong walls to hold me and towers to see the world through a far-away telescope. An ant farm of people to watch without them looking up into my window as they do now. My window reminds me that I’m not alone, that other people can look at me like I look at them. But for now, I’ll have to know that some eyes mirror my own. And maybe buy some more roses.
Points: 305
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