Page 5 of Gaze

I suppose I should have pity, or some other sad feelings for her. Maybe years of the job had desensitized me to these situations but all I could think was how pathetic she looked. I was so lost in the watching, seeing it all unfold I was completely unable to feel anything other than excitement at the drama.

Friday nights were often quiet at the window, people going out or working late meant they didn’t observe their normal patterns. I watched a nameless couple sit together on their brown couch, their hands intertwined but otherwise separate in the heat. Their TV was out of my sight but the changing colors illuminate their faces indicating they are watching some mind-numbing show. They barely move, like zombified statues glued to the bright, multicolored illuminations.

Another window that often had its blinds drawn was fully open tonight as the occupants had guests over for a meal. I spent a lot of time watching them, inserting myself into their conversation ‘why yes Barbra, I would like another roll’, ‘thank you Tom, and might I say what a lovely home this is’, I even went and got my evening meal to eat at the same time as them; just to feel a part of their group.

I fall asleep in my chair that night, watching the world around me.

chapter

six

I wake up in my chair, my neck stiff and sore. Birdsong echoing off the high walls of the back courtyard as everyone around me slumbered. Looking over at my clock I see it is barely 6am and a light breeze was floating in from the window.

It felt magnificent, to feel a touch of wind against my skin, even if it was warm.

I sat forward and stretched my aching muscles, feeling bones and ligaments pop and hiss as they adjusted from their positions, when something caught my eye.

There was a light in a lower floor window, one I had never seen illuminated before. I had assumed it was vacant as several of the tenements were. But now I could see boxes piled near the window and a desk pressed up against the ledge - it looked like the apartment was empty no more.

This revelation sent my heart racing, new people.

New people with new habits to watch and learn. New lives to observe, I wonder if they are night-owls or do they prefer to be up in the mornings? Do they argue and storm around or are they lethargic after long days in grey cubicles at work? I lean forward to get a better look, the light is on and I can see shadows moving around, their shapes dancing against the wall and window. There are two of them, a couple maybe? Maybe a family or siblings, maybe a parent helping a teen spread their wings for the first time.

All these questions race through my mind as the dawn falls over the block, bathing the top floors opposite in a pale pink light. At some point around 7am I stop seeing any signs of life, perhaps they have gone to bed, or left to get more of their belongings?

My stomach rumbles in protest, so I take the opportunity to tear myself away from the window, a theoretical spring in my step for seeing such a rare sight. Shuffling over to the kitchen I cut myself a slice of bread and toast it in the new toaster - a gift from Lisa after she burnt her toast in the grill one to many times. Slathering it in butter I watch as it bubbles and melts into the crumbs before preparing my coffee.

I shuffle back to the chair, still facing the window and consume my well-earned breakfast as I idly gaze over the windows in front of me, people are starting to rise and go about their day. But my eyes keep flicking down to the window with its new arrivals, still and silent.

The Songwriter is up in his red and blue striped shirt; you can see the moment his soul leaves his body as he slowly buttons it up. The family a few windows down are completing their standard weekend routine, the daughter is sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons with a bowl of cereal. Everything is carrying on as normal - no one is aware of the new excitement in the building.

New people.

I sit in my chair most of the morning, chain smoking cigarettes and watching the world go by. By lunchtime my butt has gone numb, and my eyes are straining at the effort. I reluctantly peel myself away from the window and turn to another form of entertainment, the TV. But it doesn’t hold me in the same way, the colors are all too bright and artificial, the tinny sound from the speakers feels grating against my hot and flush skin. I switch it off minutes after switching it on and scan my eyes around the room for something to entertain me. My eyes fall on the bag of cameras in the corner collecting dust.

It's been well over two weeks since I last used them, with no access to a dark room in my apartment there is little point in getting them out, full of fear at the thought of ruining the film harbored deep in their bodies. My eyes fall on the one camera that doesn’t have the same fate, the new camera that work has given to me to test out - though how they expect me to test it out trapped in my apartment I have no idea.

This camera is digital, no need for film or reels or winding, everything is computerized in its little plastic case. I am not sure how I feel about it, but the fact I have left it untouched in its box said enough. But maybe there is a way I can test it after all…

I scramble my way over to the box and rip it open, catching a whiff of the new plastic as I hold it in my hand for the first time. It's heavier than expected, clunky and foreign but somehow it is also familiar, like it's a relative of something I already know well. Flicking the still mechanical switch the little display lights up and requires information I would expect to give an alarm clock, not a camera. Date and time, location etc etc. Once it’s decided it has enough information from me it chirps like an electronic sparrow and I can finally begin to use it.

It is quite a marvel, once I have my lenses attached to it, I can see a live preview of my shot in the 1-inch screen. There is a small lag of course, but the technology is remarkable. I stumble back to my chair, camera in hand and start to look out the window, eye pressed to the viewfinder as if it was still film.

Everything is closer, clear. I can see the render between the bricks, the chips in the ledges and the peeling paint on the stairs, rust threading itself across steel.

“What are you doing?” The voice makes me jump. I was so wrapped up in what I was doing I didn’t hear Steve enter. My heart rate has jumped to a mile a minute, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Nothing” I stammer out, it sounds more like a lie than the truth. “Testing this new camera” I waved the offending device up in the air for him to see before spinning the chair round to face him. His face is a picture of concern, a deep-set frown across his brow.

“You spend too much time looking out that window” he says with an exaggerated exhale. “It will send you mad.”

“Madder than spending all day looking at the idiot box?” I throw back nodding towards the set in the corner.

“Life is for living, that's all I am saying” he holds his hands up defensively, I probably spoke a little harshly, but my pulse rate is still too high.

“And when I can get outside and live my life again I will.” I grumble back, not enjoying the reminder of my current imprisonment.

“Aye, you’ll be back out in the world taking pictures again in no time” Steve walks further into the living room, it’s only now that I notice a parcel under his arm.