I'm in the car with my sister and she's taking me to the natural foods store, but I've got this serious need for a drink. A bender, even. It's been a long time since I've got thrown out of a bar, made a scene.
“5 o'clock drunk.”
“Huh?”
“I'm gonna start drinking soon's I get home.”
I'm 26; too old to be a lush. My sister's 30 and fat and a virgin and no one's ever going to make a comedy of that. Both of us are single; tomorrow's Valentine's Day. I'm secretly hoping for a huge bouquet, a fruit basket, a pickle jar of urine in a lunch bag on my doorstep, even. Some gesture to let me know somewhere someone's thinking about me.
I miss my stalker.
I want to say this out loud, but I haven't even told my sis about him.
The first time he stalked, well, the first time I saw him, it was early autumn, my bedroom window was open. I'd been having trouble falling asleep, having just moved into my first floor apartment a couple weeks ago and owing to an irrational fear of alien abduction that flared up every now and then.
That night I'd fallen asleep right away. Like I knew someone was watching over me. In the middle of the night, for no reason, really, I woke up, got out of bed and turned on the light. Hearing something outside, I looked out the window. I saw what looked like a very tall, gangly man jogging away from the bushes.
I don't know why, but it felt fated.
Soon, he was showing up earlier; as I made dinner, he'd peer into my kitchen window, watch me cutting veggies, boiling noodles, singing along with my music. I wouldn't make eye contact, I'd watch him watch me from my peripherals. He was younger than I'd thought from our first meeting. He dressed nicely, in Chinos and a button-down shirt.
We didn't talk to each other; we didn't need to. He'd watch me watch TV; he was a gentleman and never watched me in the bathroom or dress/undress. He was also pretty discrete. As it got colder, he started showing up in more layers, a brown corduroy suitcoat, then a black peacoat. My windows were closed, but I left my shades up. I didn't tell anyone. I'd watch out the window if he were late.
I felt something for this young guy, standing, smoking, shivering.
The old lady who lived upstairs with her even older mother finally called the police after about three months. She'd caught a glimpse and thought she was being a good Samaritan. The police thought they were doing their duty when they arrested him.
He turned his head, as they walked him away in handcuffs; I waved good-bye through my bedroom window. It was late, moonlit, snowy, poignant. I wish someone were there to watch it all, to take note, reward us, make us significant.
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First published in The Southeast Review
I enjoyed this a lot. Says something to me about our need to connect to others and, in this case, says so in a unique way. That's a tough order.
A pleasure to read, quirky character, quirky relationship--funny when she waves goodbye! It made me think of another interesting stalkerish scenario--the one in Jesus' Son, another site of the connection Sheldon mentions in his comments.
awesome as usual, ryder. "I wish someone were there to watch it all..." love that last line.