One
Light and shadow; a dark silhouette framed in soft orange. That's all it was, but it grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Even now, as memories fade and details blur, the clarity of that moment so long ago is almost frightening.
It was late on a Thursday night in mid-September. I'd been sitting outside my kitchen for quite a while, sipping Rioja, looking out across the rooftops and simply marveling at where I was. When the light came on I turned and saw that it was coming from a tall window, almost floor to ceiling that belonged to the apartment next door. Though we shared the roof, I still had not met the neighbors. It was only my third night in Madrid.
The silhouette glided back and forth thru the light several times before disappearing from view. Then, the familiar sound of rushing water. Rising and moving a few paces to my left, I was able to see her. Still little more than a shadow, airbrushed by the thin curtain and bathed in that soft orange glow, she was magnificent. I moved quietly back to my chair as she turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around her hair and stepped out of sight again. When the light went out, I stayed glued to the window, and it would be nearly dawn before I turned out my own.
At work the next morning, Dave asked how I like my place. Difficult as it was to hold my tongue, something told me I should keep this experience to myself for a while. Dave had already been in the city a few months and was anxious to show me around on the weekend. We had worked together before. I knew this meant visiting each of the bars and discos where he had scored and would include a minutely detailed description of each conquest. I feigned a bad stomach and spent the entire weekend waiting for that light to come on again.
I waited until after midnight both Friday and Saturday before turning in disappointed. Sunday, however, my prayers were answered. I could not take my eyes off of her, even when she stopped for a moment and looked out the window. Stay still, I told myself, she can't see me; it's so dark and there was the curtain...but she could. She was to tell me later that she had looked right into my eyes and had nearly screamed but instead slipped out of her nightshirt and into the shower. She was to recall that moment many times, telling me about all the crazy things that went through her mind and the strange new sensations that rippled through her body.
Caught somewhere between terror and rapture, I could not move. Long after she had finished I just stared into the darkness she'd left behind; into that window, the black hole from which I could not escape. It was the entrance to another place, a place that I wanted desperately to go to but instinctively to run from. As my equilibrium returned, I picked up the chair and moved it to other side of the roof, resolving never to go near the window again. Later, unable to sleep, I was reminded of something I'd once read:
"Resolve is never weaker than the morning after it was never stronger."
I returned to the window again and again over the next several days. Twice, unfamiliar silhouettes appeared and sent me slinking back to my kitchen. I had carefully avoided meeting them but these brief encounters had helped me to form a vague picture of the family; mother, father, younger brother. I had placed her age at maybe nineteen or twenty. Not sure why exactly; the way she moved, carried herself. The way she had returned to the window knowing I was there. Though I had only touched her with my eyes I felt as if we were lovers already.