Originally uploaded by lorenzodom
1. The Euphony of Clothes Falling
She liked peeping through the keyhole.
She liked it a little too much, she thought.
In fact, whenever there was a dull or slow or tedious moment at work, which was often, she began thinking about looking, looking through that keyhole.
One morning, she watched them from 5:38 (she always looked at the clock at the first moan) until a few minutes after 8, when she knew she would now be 18 minutes late to the office.
She had begun timing the time it took her to get from her desk to her apartment door—where, after madly fumbling to find her keys, she would eagerly klink it and push it open with a sibilant “Ungh!” and a soft shove.
“5:35!” she’d shout as she saw the clock across the room, and then, smiling, almost smirking, she’d rush to get ready, to take off her shoes, pour herself half a glass of water (she didn’t want to spill it) and quietly scurry over to her favorite spot, where, patiently, she would wait—wait for the first sound of steps, for the first clunk of bags dropping, and the wonderfully wistful euphony of clothes falling, one by one, lithely to the floor.
She only went out when it was at least 100 degrees.
Otherwise, she stayed inside, with nothing but her fuzzy hunting cap on, with the air conditioner on high, while constantly saying to herself, “God, its cold in here! God, its cold in here! I wish it was hotter, so I cold go outside. God, its cold in here!”
One day, while she was sitting, padding her shoulders and repeating her favorite phrase, on her mattress, which lie sheetless in the middle of the floor—she heard a sudden, soft knock on the door.
She froze. And suddenly, wide-eyed with teeth-chattering, began chanting, “God, its hot outside, God, its hot outside….”
3. The Window Across The Room
She had been held hostage for two weeks now.
She’d been locked up in the Western Inn just off Highway 9, Room 255, but really had no clue as to where she was, to when it was and how she got there.
Bound and blindfolded as she was, she had quickly learned not to panic, but merely to be patient, thinking, believing that they would have hurt her by now, if they were going to do anything at all.
One morning, almost as if it were a dream, she woke up unbound and naked in the middle of the floor; strangely somehow she found the coarse feeling of the bristle from the industrial shag rather soothing, comforting if only because it meant she was free to feel, free to speak, free to see.
The first thing she saw was a rabbit fur hunting cap, left in center of the bed, perfectly positioned so that it was lit by the thin slit of light that came from the window across the room.
(R&O thank you for the inspiration)
Rose, Olive & Me