Alone

by Lindsay Fiore

The Man

Outside

The 1st time he noticed her was because of her kitchen light.  She lived on the 4th floor, 3rd window from the left.  At exactly 11pm every night, that warm glow would turn on.   Most apartments in the building were awful.  People opened and closed curtains at strange hours, while TVs were always on unless they were broken.

Couples screamed through paper-thin walls, then walked outside smiling.  But her, she stayed the same.  He watched from the parking lot below while the rain pooled by the curb.  The building itself was the opposite of special.  Water stains under every balcony, rust on every railing and filth near the entrance.   The woman in 407 rushed home, carrying groceries close to her as if she was expecting to be robbed.   First the TV turned on, then the bathroom light, then the bedroom light. Same order every night.   Without deciding to, he started to write times down.  

18:41. Television 23:00. Kitchen 23:18. Bathroom

The rain drifted against the window while children screamed from the parking lot.   He sat there, long after the lights went out.   He noticed her because of that kitchen light.  He realized the building smelled different depending on how the weather was. When it rained, it smelled of mildew and wet cardboard. In the heat, dust and wiring. Winter was the worst though, frozen pipes, mouldy laundry and metal.  

Somehow, the walls became thinner at 12am.   203 argued every Thursday.  311 constantly coughed and 512 played game shows loud enough to be heard down the block. 407, though, was always quiet. Sometimes he heard her TV, sometimes only her light footsteps.  

Nothing else.

No lover.

No visitors.

Alone.  

He wrote that word in his book and underlined it.

The Grocery Store

The 1st time he followed her, it was to the grocery store 3 blocks away.  He stayed a block behind.  Just outside was a man screaming obscenities to cautiously approaching policemen.  She moved quickly without appearing rushed.   

Inside the store she bought:

Coffee Bread Salami Cheap flowers.  

Always the flowers. 

She would stand there for a long time, and she would only pick the ones damaged, as if taking in a stray.  At the register, her card declined. She apologized, but the cashier was vacant and barely noticed the woman.  That stayed with him.  Outside, children were throwing rocks at parked cars while their parents chain smoked under the laundro-mat awning.  Winter had barely started and the city already looked tired.  

The Apartment

The 1st time he entered her apartment, he expected to be excited, not embarrassed.   The room had a flavour of stale coffee and detergent.  A sitcom was playing quietly, and 1 kitchen cabinet was slightly open.  1 chair in the kitchen.  1 table.  Dead flowers.  

He sat down.

Nothing sentimental. Nothing cinematic.

Just another tired apartment. 

He sat there humming to the refrigerator before going to her bedroom.  On the dresser he found a photograph. It was the woman with another woman near a waterfall. Their hair was being pulled by the wind. They were smiling, but he noticed something.  He picked up the frame and looked closer; the other woman’s smile was real, hers was not.  Before leaving, he put the frame down, but slightly sideways.  

Not enough to announce a presence but enough to interfere. 

Outside rain struck windows with a steady rhythm while elevator cables moaned behind walls.   He had left after less than 5 minutes.  

BIO: Lindsay Fiore lives in Vancouver BC. They spend their time walking their cat, drinking wine on the beach, or writing.