Secrets

 

It had to be said that I liked the life I was living.  There was no doubt about it that I had been fortunate and the decisions I had made seemed to have worked out leaving me able to sell the media company I had started ten years before and retire comfortably at the age of 35 with a guaranteed income. 

Muscles, Tattoos and a Well Greased Spoon

‘I’ve always been a wild thing in bed you know’ she said in a low husky voice just audible above the clink and clatter of cups and cutlery in the kitchen where a hunched old woman was throwing everything in sight into the washer. The garish irregular strobing flicker of a dirty fluorescent tube made the scene even more disturbing.

Love is Blind

 

You said you used to be an artist and light and colour were were a swirling kaleidoscope before your seeing eyes.  I could not imagine a world without seeing but you can imagine the world from the information of your other senses and fill in the gaps.  You can see whatever you want now the light is different and make the world again even more beautiful than it was before.  That is real art.

A Lonely Friend

It was late when the phone rang.  Half conscious he struggled to locate the thing, half remembered it was in his bag,  fumbled around looking for the bag and then dragged the phone out and flipped it open.  If it was another wrong number he was going to be angry and cursed himself for not putting the thing on manner mode.

The Sociology of Scars – An Under-Researched Subject Area

I have been giving the subject of scars a fair amount of thought recently and the academic in me already has a lengthy paper in mind.  The subject is properly covered by the sociology of the body or Medical Sociology but it appears to be one area that is apparently a bit under-researched or merely referred to but not subjected to in depth analysis. 

Very Short Stories

For those of you who did not read Wired Magazines article entiled Very Short Stories here is the link http://wired.com/wired/archive/14.11/sixwords.html  The idea is to write an interesting story using only 6 words.

Around the World

 

You lay in your bed listening to rain fall outside your open window.  The curtains billow softly and in the distance you hear the rumble of thunder. 

There’s a Child Crying

There’s a small child crying in the apartment across the way. 

There’s a dog barking as first raindrops fall on hot concrete

A couple shout angrily more like enemies now than friends.

Looking down a pale faced man checks the trash for something to eat

Watch an old woman climb steps slowly to reach a shrine she tends

Smell incense and catch muttered words for noone left to hold them

Hear mournful wailing from an empty park as unoiled swings sway

From the ceiling above an old tune weaves a faster rythmn

And all this time the child keeps on crying just across the way

Where do you like to Write?

Walter Benjamin ,a personal hero of mine, apparently used to write in Jazz cafes enveloped in people and music.  Such was his focus and powers of concentration he could effectively insulate himself from his surroundings whilst at the same time be energised by them.

Scars

I had never really thought much about scars before until I had an accident and shattered my left arm.  After a two hour operation to pin bones back together I was left with a couple of good ones and an arm full of hardware.  I then began to notice scars more and wonder about them and try to work out the story’s behind them.  When I was a student I was very influenced by the photography of Jo Spence who I admired very much and still do.  I have always found her images very powerful and a bit uncomfortable too. 

A Blank Canvas

 

Standing before the canvas waiting for a chance. Stairs creak in ancient aching numbness.  Muffled sounds twist his emotions.  He hears colours shouting at him in his mind like synesthetic dreams.  Liquid blues looks back at him with sparkling notes as it runs freely over the freshly primed surface.  Mandraxian curves undulate and softly envelop his sloping mind before rolling off an uneven surface. 

A Mountain Cucumber and Marmite Sandwiches and Escape from Royal Weddings

 

It was 29th July 1981 and whilst most of the UK and a fair number of others around the globe were being dazzled by what appeared to be a fairytale romance between a prince and his young pretty bride.  Not impressed by spending the day oohing and ahhing in front of the TV my father decided it was a good day to climb a mountain so off we went to climb Helvellyn.  Helvellyn is the third highest peak in both the Lake District and England.  At 950 metres (3,117 feet) above sea level therefore it is a proper mountain and deserving of respect.

Pieces of Mind and Fragments of Memory Part 1

Days when nothing much happened come back to me now.  I am thinking of an innocent time feasting on apples and blackberries and drinking water from a well.  It is late afternoon on August 16th 1977 and we lay down on soft fragrant grass with our backs against the sun warmed pine tree.  There is nothing to hear but the rustle of wheat, birdsong and the soft buzz of insects.  I bury my face in your golden hair and breathe in the fragrance of your skin.  You trace your finger tips along my arm.  I feel myself melting and falling asleep surrounded by you.  In my dreams the roots of the tree reach the centre of the earth. A moment that imprints on memory forever.  Elvis died that day. The radio played Elvis and Abba songs.  It seemed like the beginning of our time.

Lucy the Girl in the Window

I once worked in an office that was separated from the building opposite by a narrow road.  All the windows on that side of the building were chest high so you could only look out if you stood up.  There was nothing to see really except the second floor of the building opposite.  Every morning I would grab my tea and stare out of the window wistfully for no particular reason other than to see the outside world.  One morning I saw a woman looking out of the window of the building opposite and realised that she was waving to me.  I waved back.  The next morning the same thing happened.  I realised that I was looking into her bed-sit and I guess she must have thought I had been watching her.  I felt embarrassed but also oddly fascinated, like some kind of voyeur, and felt compelled to look out of the window any time I got the chance, even when I should really have been doing my work. 

Sometimes she would sit at her dressing table putting on her makeup and then suddenly look up and smile.  It was like a game of ‘peek-a-boo’.  Sometimes she wasn’t wearing much or anything at all but she didn’t seem to care and waved to me without a hint of embarrassment.  Other times she might pass the window and look out to see if I was there and if I was she looked happy.  On a couple of occasions I would stay slightly out of sight and watch the expression on her face or just watch her relaxing on a big cushion or doing yoga.  Sometimes she would look up as if sensing my presence and flash me a smile before continuing what she was doing.  This went on for several weeks and each time I saw her I thought I knew her a little better. 

I could often see what mood she was in.  Sometimes I could hear her playing music and see her dancing other times clutching a mug of tea crying for some reason.  One day I looked out and saw her on the street arguing with a guy.  Later as she looked out I saw her tear streaked face looking up at my window as if for comfort.  She smiled when she saw me and I mouthed the words ‘Are you OK?’ and she made the ‘OK’ sign back.  I said goodbye to her most days and when I was travelling to work I couldn’t help thinking of her.  I felt my heart jump when I saw her.    It dawned on me one day that I had developed quite strong feelings for her. 

Sometimes if she was dressing she would hold clothes up and ask my opinion about what she should wear.  Sometimes she would put things on and dance around and I would do thumbs up or down.  At Christmas we put little banners up for each other wishing each other a ‘Merry Christmas’.  She was going to a party and had a lovely tight fitting black dress that on that occasion got a double-thumbs-up and a ‘Wow’.  She thought this was hilarious and did a double-thumbs-up old person dance to tease me.  I was laughing too and at that point standing on my desk, wiggling my hips about somewhat suggestively showing her my best moves, when my boss, who had entered my room without knocking, cleared his throat -finally making me aware of his presence.  He gave me a very strange -what on earth are you doing- look and asked me if I was feeling OK.  My response was somewhat bizarrely to pretend I was swatting a fly as I hoped he had not been there very long.  I mimed the incident to her later and she was extremely amused.  During supervision a week later my boss kept asking me if there was anything bothering me as I had been spending a lot of time in my room and not mixing with my colleagues very much recently.  Actually I just wanted to get back to my room to see my friend.

Then one day I was walking in the park nearby and I saw her sitting on a bench reading a book.  I walked past a few times but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her.  I am not certain if she saw me.  I don’t know why but perhaps in some way I didn’t want to lose our window relationship.  If I had spoken to her I guess things might have changed.  How many other relationships had I had that seemed to be so pleasant and mutually rewarding?  We had intimate moments.  Sometimes we had arguments about minor misunderstandings but somehow we made up.  Sometimes we had little trial separations but we always got back together

When I was having a bad day I would look out of the window forlornly and she would be there ready to offer comfort.  We spoke without words as she seemed to know what I was feeling with uncanny precision.  I felt her warmth and positive energy and I was there for her too.  She must have worked at night if she worked at all. I knew that if I knew too much about her maybe things would change.

I was then very busy for a while covering for a colleague and then I was on holiday for a few weeks.  I seemed to have no time for my window friend but I was always thinking about her. 
When I eventually came back I looked out of the window there were no curtains at her window and the room looked empty.  My heart sank and I feared the worst.  Why had I not told her I was going on leave? Why hadn’t I put a notice up to explain?  I realised that she must have wondered where I had gone and maybe felt the way I felt right now.  How had I become so attached to her?

Later that morning I was checking my post when I caught sight of a lilac coloured letter propped on top of the letter trays, with other odd bits of homeless mail, addressed to ‘My Friend at the Window’.  I knew this had to be for me.  Inside there was a neatly written card and also a Polaroid of me at the window -taken without my knowledge. 
‘Hello my dear friend at the window. 

My name is Lucy. 

Where have you been? 

I miss you so much. 

Am I crazy?  Did you say yes?
I will be leaving my room on the 12^th June to go and live in
Canada with my family.

Love

Lucy’

PS Please come and see me before I go if not I will assume you don’t want to know me anymore (make sure you come ok). 

It was the 15^th June.  There was no way to contact her again. Ironically I had missed her so much during my leave that I had decided to risk seeing her face to face but now it was apparently too late.
Whenever I looked out the window now my eyes were drawn to that dark square now so lifeless and cold without her presence.  It became harder and harder to look out without feeling a great sense of sadness and loss.  One day I stopped looking out the window and never did so again until I too moved on.  I have never forgotten Lucy my girlfriend at the window.

Afterwords:

The true events in this intentionally nostalgic post happened whilst I was working in a government office in the UK in 1988.  I shared a room with someone else but there was a partition and she wasn’t there all the time.  I had recently split up with a long term girlfriend and was trying to find myself a bit.  The events happened around the time of my other post ‘Shadows of Childhoods Past’ which actually gives all the information as to my location at the time.  The trail is pretty cold.

There has been some discussion elsewhere about the age of Lucy at the time.  We were both in our early 20s and like many people of that age relationships came and went and it would have been odd to pursue her as tenaciously as some have suggested.  There were plenty more fish in the sea at that time and what I was doing was taking a bit of a break from full blown relationships.  I am guessing but she was probably a Canadian student at the local art college as she left to return home to her parents after studying overseas.  She could certainly draw well.

There is a famous still image from the film ‘Rear Window’ placed at the end of the post for illustrative purposes only.  The picture at the top of the post is for illustrative purposes too as I took no pictures from my window of Lucy although I know she took at least one of me.  It never occured to me at the time and if it had I probably wouldn’t have done it without her consent.

For those who were not around in 1988 e-mail came to the masses from the early 1990s onwards so that is why Lucy didn’t just leave an e-mail address.  I think the computers at the time were running Windows 3 with state of the art dot matrix printers attached.  Mobiles looked like bricks and weren’t something most people had or wanted to lug about.

Looking back on it it was a very special relationship and probably what we both needed at the time.  I am only guessing but I think that she had also had a recent split and I was just a reassuring presence.

I have never forgotten her but I guess she is in her 40s probably married with a couple of kids and would probably be embarassed to recall what happened.  It is kind of nice the way it is.

I hope this does something to answer the considerable number of comments and discussion entries I have seen on this post.

Thanks

David Raho

PS I have no objection to the short film ideas.