Through The Window

This is a true story, the last time I did something like this.   I’d done the same kinda thing about five times before, not to mention all the times I ran around in the woods at night.  Afterward, I didn’t have my bike or a girl worth doing it for until my wife, and she lived too far away and she had an air conditioner in her second floor window.  Besides, it didn’t seem as romantic without the bike.  I’ve turned it into a story before, but this time I’m writing it from the girl’s POV because A) I’m stuck on a few other things, 2) I don’t HAVE the other things, and GAMMA) I’m bored.  So, here goes.

The iced tea flowed into the glass, a steady, refreshing torrent.  That was completely unlike how she felt inside.  Not a single errant drop escaped to moisten the counter, which amazed her.   The glass had already begun to sweat, and it almost slipped through her fingers when she lifted it.

“That’s no way to start the evening,” she muttered, shaking her head, attempting to clear it of extraneous thoughts.

The loud yawn behind her caused her already stretched nerves to within breaking distance.  “Goin’ to bed,” her father said around another yawn.  “Night.”

“Yeah, g’night.  I might stay up and read some.”

 

 

The air conditioner made the page taped to the window flutter.  She watched, feeling her heart match it in anticipation.  The comforter wrapped around her felt at once too small to contain her excitement and too large for her to escape.  The emerald numbers changed on the clock radio with agonizing lack of speed.

“What if he doesn’t come?  What if he got caught?  What if WE get caught?” was the mantra her mind kept repeating, followed by a deep breath to get her nerves under control.   She twirled a length of hair around her finger, her thumb rubbing it absently.  Realization of the action struck, and her therapist’s words came back to smack her.  “You only do it to substitute the action for your anxiety….”

“Shut up, Barry,” she whispered, but still untangled her fingertip.  The streetlight through the window caught the end of her hair, mocking her.   She turned her back on both the light and the window.  Still, the exquisite anticipation was at once agony and ecstasy, and the need to move, to DO something, tingled through her entire form.  There was a panicked eternity of several seconds while she wondered if the note could be read from the outside and whether or not she should turn on a lamp.  The trouble was, it might cause noise, and was her father quite asleep?  Would Ophelia the PIA Dog wake up?  As she agonized over this, there was a quick tap at the window.  Her heart stopped; it was either some descendent of Poe’s ebony aviary visitor, or her intended.  The note said “Knock softly,” and the third tap showed that it could, in fact, be read from the outside.  She reached over, all tentative nerves forgotten, and the window was pushed up.  It made none of the squeaking she’d feared.

“Remember me?” he said, leaning forward.  He opened the window further, starting to crawl through.  His hands walked forward across the purple carpet, and when only his lower legs remained outside, THAT’s when the dog, the Pain in the ASS dog, chose to bark.  One single, echoing from Tarterus bark.  She froze, he froze in the ridiculous position–the seconds ticked by.  No further noise from the dog, no noise from her father’s room like pulling the gun from his drawer…

Nothing.  No sounds of movement anywhere but her chest as her heart led a brass band to march out of the nearest opening.  Slowly, her head leaned back against the pillow as a smile spread across her lips.   Once he finished climbing in, he mimed pushing his too-rapidly beating heart back into his chest several times.

“I know you,” she said, moving farther across the bed as he came closer.

“Well, that’s good. Hate to think I was climbing into the bedroom of someone I don’t know.”  Kneeling beside the bed, he tossed a glance at the almost-back-to-sleep dog.  “I thought she was going to get us killed.”

“Come lay down,” she said, her voice calm and steady while her heart was beating a rapid repeating Morse code message, “He’s here he’s here I can’t believe he did it he’s here in my room…”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: