The Watcher
Jon Sindell The man took the fourth floor Hayes Valley walkup despite his pained legs and shortness of breath for the view it afforded of the young woman’s apartment across the street. She was beautiful and healthy, feral and vibrant, with good taste in clothing—though how she afforded so much nice clothing took his mind to dark places. He fought the impulse to think ill of the woman, and filled with relief when she entered her building with fresh–looking young people capable, he hoped, of appreciating her as he did. At night he would watch anxiously from his darkened room as she strode home alone past drug dealers, crazies, young toughs and mean drunks, an air horn and a high–powered flashlight in his hands. His alcohol–weakened heart would cramp when she passed out of sight behind shadowy trees, and he’d calculate how quickly he could scrabble downstairs on arthritic legs to save her from danger; after that, he’d enfold her in heroic loving arms. But he shivered to think that a cold look might kill him. After watching all winter the yearning overpowered him and he resolved to approach her. “Hi miss,” he told the mirror—but that made him sound old. “Hi honey,” he said, but that seemed presumptuous. “Hi Belle,” he said, praying she’d reply, “Hi there, you Crazy Old Maurice” in homage to their custom from so long ago, before he’d fled with the rainy–day money, a fifth, and his Best Daddy mug from their last Father’s Day. |
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About the Author:
Jon Sindell wrote the flash–fiction collection The Roadkill Collection (Big Table Publishing, 2014) and the long–story collection Family Happiness (2016). He curates the San Francisco–based reading series Rolling Writers and is a fulltime personal humanities tutor.
Jon Sindell wrote the flash–fiction collection The Roadkill Collection (Big Table Publishing, 2014) and the long–story collection Family Happiness (2016). He curates the San Francisco–based reading series Rolling Writers and is a fulltime personal humanities tutor.