The room floated about him, its furniture in place as he sat naked and motionless in a chair at the center of the room and stared at the wall opposite.
The most prominent of the assortment of objects in the apartment was the telephone. It was central to the room, sitting on a stand next to his chair. The telephone was capable of function but this evening had not joined in the room's activities. He could not coerce its participation and it frustrated him that it had chosen this particular evening to remain uninvolved.
He wondered about Jane, the woman in the apartment across the hall. She had come in some time earlier, possibly with groceries. He had heard the crinkling of bags. She had opened the door with her key and locked it behind her. There was music sometime after. Were it not for the fish eye peep hole in every door he would have opened his door to look at hers and possibly have moved closer to hear with more detail the life within, but he knew she would have been able to see the entire hallway through that hole and he dared not risk it.
He imagined her moving within the rooms. He knew everything about her place because he had been there before when she was at work. He had slid a plastic ruler into the door jamb to slip the lock. He first went to her bookcase and drew down a leather bound photo album. He sat in one of her chairs and leafed through the album. He stopped at a group photo of her family. The father was hefty, the mother slim and attractive, though not nearly so beautiful as Jane. He decided the young man with the severe haircut in many of her pictures was her brother because their posture together was not indicative of a romantic relationship. He next went to her bedroom and sampled her perfume. He looked through her drawers and pocketed some of her underwear to take back with him. Then to the bathroom where he held her soaps, her shampoo, her toothpaste and toothbrush. He rolled the type of tampon she used between his fingers. Finally he went to the kitchen and examined the food in her cupboards and in her refrigerator. He masturbated into her milk before leaving.
Jane would be going to bed soon. She rose early he knew and tomorrow was a work day. He remained in his chair and waited as the curtains shifted position. He considered the telephone again. If it should decide to involve him tonight he would not be as quick this time to make a commitment. He would wait until it had made its intentions clear. There was so much sadness the last time.
His bladder ached and soon he would have to make an adjustment. He listened to a car passing on the street outside. It was a quiet street for the most part but this was the time of the evening when people returned home from their jobs. He heard doors open and close, feet grind on walkways, keys jingle. He heard some laughter and a cough. He tried to remember the last time he had spoken to anyone. The last time he had gone out.
He remembered he had walked to the corner and not having a direction in mind had moved toward the brighter end of the street. He would discover though that none of the tricks used in the past to quiet the panic would ever work again. He could no longer maintain any attention at the movies. He could no longer read. When he passed various shops he found no distraction in the contemplation of purchased goods. He used to find solace in observing the passing strangers, their changing faces. But now the faces all held the same unkind expression. He realized after walking for several hours that there was nothing out there for him anymore and he returned to them, finally, tired and defeated.
It was dark now and the discomfort of his bladder had become unbearable so he gingerly eased himself off the chair and curled his bare toes into the carpet. He waited for a change, some sign of disapproval, but there was none. He made his way to the bathroom. He could not chance standing to urinate because it was dark and he knew they would not allow any light. He sat down and felt the warm liquid slowly pass from him. He flushed. He then made his way to the bedroom where a shaft of light entered through the open window and ran across the unmade bed. He stood at the window and watched the trees bend in conversation. He waited to hear more sounds from the street but there was only the silence. It would be nearly ten hours until daylight and he was without a defense against the objects in the apartment that would never sleep and would eventually turn their attention to the one occupant in the room not of sufficient substance to demand respect. It hurt to breathe and it was getting cold.
He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for what was to come. The room floated about him, its furniture in place and he gripped the bedsheets tightly as he stared into the dresser mirror. There was no one there.
- C. S. Winter
