15 minutes / Morning Voyeur

15 minutes / Morning Voyeur

I’ve started taking a creative writing course and our first project is to start writing for 15 minutes a day. I won’t be posting everything I write here.


She woke up earlier than him. She listened to him breathe several times before easing herself up from the bed. As she passed through the living room, she noticed a lucid mess of bottle rings adorned the coffee table. A lap top had been left half open, like a sleeping eye watching. She tiptoed out to the balcony, past an ivy plant that twisted and curled toward the carpeted floor. She opened the door and stepped outside. Across the street she could hear light strumming, a guitar or stringed instrument of some sort. It softly echoed down the corridor of the alley, reverberating off sun-faced walls and the shadows. The sound stretched through the hot summer air like a tired yawn.

It was the type of morning that you don’t want to awake under covers feeling drenched from muffled heat. The kind of summer day where awaking from sleep with a cool breeze from an open window or electric fan felt like dipping your feet in water.

She searched for the musician down the alley but instead she saw a ruffled cat slither alongside a building eventually slipping through a chain-link fence. The sky was a crisp blue, the perfect kind of blue that school-children tried to paint in all of their picture-making. Predictably perfect. She stood near the edge of the balcony within a triangle of shade as the sun poured in from the east.

The smell of bacon drifted by and something else fried-smelling, maybe even old grease burning off the cast-iron pan. The balcony below, the window was open. She heard the chirp of small children, light laughter cut by stern adult voices. “Sit down, eat your breakfast, tie your shoes…”

The morning heat poured in, it burned and prickled her neck. She searched for something cool to touch: the metal railing, the shadowed wall. When she leaned against concrete she always imagined stealing it’s warmth or coolness depending on what it might be. When she was cold as a child, the recess officers used to find her lying on the pavement along the sidewalk. They asked her what she was doing, whether she was injured. No, just cold. When it was sunny out and too hot, void of popsicles and juice with ice, she searched for metal in the shade. A cold lawnchair, or sometimes shadowed glass. She’d lean against it, pressing her shoulders and arms against the surface. The feeling was similar to someone dropping an icecube down the back of your shirt. Shivers then relief.

The music continued to strum. It was a lethargic tune, happy but ultimately lazy.

Below there was a woman in a yard kitty corner to her apartment building. She was older, middle aged. A body that housed a family at one point, yet so many years had passed. Lost in loose fabric and head scarves and passed time. She swiftly hung up clothing along a line, clipping shoulders and wrists and necks to the rope. But in this weather, even early morning chores had their appeal, that urgency to step outside and be a part of the world.

She thought about this as she planned out her day. Upon her balcony staring down at everyone else, like a voyeur through a peep hole.

Advertisements

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