Sunday, April 21, 2013

The Watching Game

Writing calms me down and makes things feel okay. 

Jerry sucked in his breath, telling himself he was fine, he was almost home, if he could just get home, it would all somehow be all right. 

"Next stop, Huntington Place." 

Jerry stood up and steadied himself, moving towards the train's door. 

Almost there. 

"Huntington Place," the robotic voice repeated as the doors slid open, depositing Jerry at his station. 

One slip. 

His foot could 'accidentally' get caught in that small gap, people pushing and trampling past his crumpled body, no one even noticing him as he silently and submissively took his life. 

No, he was almost home. 

And Annie was waiting. 

He braced himself, hoisting his backpack against his body, taking the stairs two at a time. 

Fresh air. 

Stars begging to be seen over the city lights. 

He breathed deeply, steadying his mind. 

Almost home. 

Quickening his steps, he walked past the closing shops and bakeries, the restaurants and bars gearing up for the beginning of their night. 

Almost. 

The taxis and cars sped past, honking at each other, in proof of their existence. 

Almost. 

Jerry reached the coffee shop where he got his tall coffee with just a hint of vanilla and a splash of 2% every morning, turning the corner to see the window of his second-story loft apartment above the dentist office. 

Almost. 

Hurriedly grabbing his keys out of his bag, he unlocked the door and raced up the back stairs, reaching his door and fidgeting to find the correct key. 

Almost. 

Once inside, he flipped on the lights, throwing his bag in the corner and placing his keys in the basket on the counter. 

Now. 

He slowly walked to the window facing the building next door, the one part of this routine that was slow and appreciated. 

There she was. 

Sitting in her oversized arm chair, a mug of what he imaged was tea in her small hands, her feet dangling over the side of the chair, her hair pulled up in a messy and frantic bun, sitting lopsided on the side of her head. 

She was perfect. 

His Annie. 

He had learned her name last week when one of her friends shouted at her window from the street. 

Annie. 

Perfect Annie. 

He pulled his chair closer to the window, sinking back, just watching her. 

He told himself this wasn't creepy, that he was just innocently in love with her. 

If she forgot to close the blinds when she undressed, he would look away. When she got a phone call from whoever it was who called and upset her frequently, he would go about his own business. 

But on particularly crappy nights like this one, where his boss threatened to fire him over a typo or Janet the secretary came up behind him and whispered things in his ear that made him blush and angry that she wouldn't just leave him alone or his dad calling him just to remind him that his brother was getting married and why was Jerry a failure, watching Annie was what kept him from ending it all. 

He stepped through the window and out onto the balcony, lighting up a cigarette, wondering if the small flame was enough to catch her eye. 

She must be watching something frightening; she was clenching a pillow while still trying to hold her mug. 

"Hi, Annie, my name's Jerry. Would you like to have a Supernatural marathon with me?" 

Jerry practiced talking to her most nights. He wanted to be prepared just incase. 

"You know," he began again, inhaling and looking up at the window, "My favourite is your freckles. I can see how they cover your face from here." 

The sound of breaking glass and a cat hissing distracted him and he turned to look below. Probably old Ankly chasing off his neighbor's cat again, Jerry thought. 

He inhaled again and turned back to her window. 

Then froze. 

She was looking straight at him. 

Jerry didn't move, keeping her gaze. He didn't know what to do. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. 

Slowly, she stood and walked to her window. 

Close the blinds, just be slightly disturbed by me, it's fine, Jerry thought. 

When she climbed out of the window and down the fire escape towards his balcony, Jerry began to freak out. 

When she got to the bottom balcony of her building above his, she stopped. 

"Can I bum a cigarette?" 

Jerry tossed up his half-empty pack and lighter, trying to stay calm. 

"Thanks," she said, throwing them back down after lighting up. 

Silence. 

"How the Supernatural marathon coming?" 

Jerry dropped his cigarette, his hands shaking uncontrollably. 

"What, you can watch me but I can't watch you? That's not fair." 

Jerry felt himself go red from his toes to his head. 

"You're not the only one who's bored of their life," she continued, inhaling long before breathing out the smoke. 

"You might already know this, but my name's Annie. But I don't know yours." 

"Jerry," he finally managed to get out gruffly. 

Annie took a step back. "Say something else, something longer." 

"Uh, it's nice to meet you?" Jerry said, confused. 

"I wasn't expecting such a deep voice," Annie said, staring at him. 

"All that bourbon and whiskey I drank as a kid," Jerry joked quietly, still nervous and unsure of himself. 

The laugh that escaped Annie's throat was the most sincere thing Jerry had ever heard. He never wanted it to end. 

"It's nice to meet you too, Jerry," Annie said, still smiling. 

Jerry closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

Now. 

Annie.