Golden Box Book Publishing One Picture: Thousands of Words | Page 20

lips, painted with red lipstick. But it was that look of hers—that stare
that chained me to her: defiant, yet haunting and venerable as if she
had a secret.
Then, three months ago, I saw her for the first time, at the window
of her apartment, which is directly across from mine. It was a little
after six PM, and the white, mini blinds to her apartment were raised,
and she was just standing there, in front of the window. Every night,
at six, she did this—just stood there, looking out, until the sun went
down. I began staring at her every night through my binoculars.
I know that she knew that I was doing this, --she was always
looking straight at me—but she never seemed to mind she always
kept appearing every evening at the window.
I’m not a pervert. I’m just lonely.
See, seven years ago, I was diagnosed with having MS. I’m
crippled now, bound to a wheelchair. I was in a nursing home for the
past six years, but last year, in 2018, I got fed-up living there and got
this one-bedroom, Hud, apartment. The apartment complex isn’t too
bad, but the neighborhood is pretty rundown—old, deteriorating and
high crime.
The apartment complex is in the shape of a half of an H. It’s
composed of three connecting buildings. Building A in the middle,
and building C is to the south, and building B is to the north. The
parking lot is between building C and B and extends to the street;
separating B and C by sixty or eighty feet. All of the buildings of the
complex have three floors, and I live on the third floor, in apartment
B-313. She lived directly across from me.
What I had always found so odd about it all was that she always
kept the blinds raised; even though it was summer, the air-
conditioner, which is below the window, was never on: the two side