Simple, Tired, Happy
Most of the shades here stay closed. I notice this in the morning while I pull ours wide. The sun is too bright to keep my eyes open, but I allow it to bathe my eyelids in speckled warmth.
People seem surprised when I ask their name. It’s not a jump or a gasp. It’s something fleeting that greets their face and then washes away as they answer.
I want to be neighborly — friendly, even. But also, I’m curious.
There’s a couple downstairs. I ran into them one evening — boxes in hand and a piece of furniture on wheels. They were moving, but just a few doors down. “We needed a two-bedroom,” she explained. “He needs a place to work and I need a place to read.”
A middle-aged woman sits on the stoop of her doorway. She’s on the second floor — just across from us. Two cats weave around her, winding their tails around her legs as they go. “That’s Nico,” she said, “This is Eliza. I’ve had her for almost a year. I found her on Christmas morning after church.”
Two doors down, two brothers live with their mother. They come and go, but I always hear her in the kitchen when I walk past. The windows are cracked, and the smell of something savory and fried and wonderful escapes. In the laundry room, I see a sign posted: “Se venden empanadas.”
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The man next door begins his day when mine is ending. When I met him, I apologized for our noise during the day. He smiled and shook his head in reassurance. “I have a daughter, too, but she’s older.”
I run into a young mother from time to time. She has one child strapped to her, another in a stroller, and a third walking. We nod when we pass by. Not because we know one another, but because we understand one another without knowing. And did you know — she’s thirty-four, too?
Each morning, I peer out of the kitchen window as I make my coffee. I count down from ten. A man appears with his dog. Some days the walk is about to begin, and other days it has just ended, but he always appears. I think to wave, but then wouldn’t that be odd? If I wave today, I have to wave every day, don’t I?
What would they think if they knew I was writing about them — if they knew that the glow from my window tonight is because I’ve been charmed by all of our parallel lives?
I have to admit — I hope they are, too.
I hope they see the way I let my kids run down the opposite stairwell to race me to the bottom. I hope they spot my best friend walking towards my door and the way I open it and reach for her. I hope they notice how my life looks different depending on the day of the week.
I hope they look out and say “Her life is simple” or “She’s tired, but happy.” Because it is, and I am.
