Village Squire, 1974-01, Page 12WINDOWS
A short,
short story
by Pat Sparks
BY PAT SPARKS, LUCKNOW
Perspiration is trickling down my face.
Sweat is running down rr,y back. My feet are
killing me. I wish I was home. I wish I had a
nice, cold drink. I wish I was swimming in a
cool pool. I wish I was anywhere but standing
motionless on a busy corner.
Everywhere I look I see people: tall, short,
underweight, overweight, contented, de-
pressed, noisy, silent, beautiful, ugly,
laughing, and cursing - bustling masses of
humanity. I am alone, waiting for the
Eastbound broiling bus. I am goidg to melt
any minute.
The city stinks. If I don't get away from
here soon, I'm liable to throw up. I clutch my
stomach and the back of a crowded bench. No
one notices. I accidentally brush the shoulder
of a man. He swivels and glares at me. I move
away apologetically. My head feels like it's
about to explode. The counsellor shouldn't
have encouraged my tears. Thank heavens,
the bus is here!
"Your fare please, madam."
12, VILLAGE SQUIRE/JANUARY 1974
Someone is always atter me tor money.
"I'm sorry. I can't seem to find my
change."
"Why don't you sit down in the front seat
there and look for it. You're holding up the
line."
I could die. He did not have to speak so
loudly. Here you greedy gold grabber, take
your filthy lucre. I wish I had the nerve to rip
him down a peg or two. My face must be very
red. I must sit by a window. I love windows.
Windows are free to watch everything inside
and outside without being forced to voice an
opinion. They never lie, or cheat, or prove
themselves -false in time of need. Windows
are magnificent examples of purity. Mine is
stuck. I tap the shoulder ahead of me.
"Sir, would you mind putting your window
down? Mine seems to be stuck."
He frowns.
"Please!"
A light breeze teases my steaming face.
Thank God, the oven is coming to a halt! He's
certain to be home by now. He'II be glad to
see me again. He loves me - he must - her
married me!
"Excuse me, this is my stop".
Drat! The driver doesn't see me. He thinks
everyone's off!
"Please let me out!"
He still doesn't hear me.
"Driver, a lady wants out.
"Thank you."
I'm out. I hope I never have to see those
people again!
There it is - home, my home! I can see my
windows. I love windows. The Bentley is in
the driveway. He is back. My heart is
pounding. My knees are shaking. Steady
hand, or I'll never get this door unlocked. I
must not squeak the door. Elegant doors are
not supposed to squeak. I hold my breath.
Nothing happens. I tiptoe in. I must not
awaken him. He's such a hard worker. He is a
tremendous person - a community leader, and
he is mine! He goes berserk, when I awaken
him from a deep sleep.
Something is wrong. He isn't in the living
room, or the den, or the bedroom, or the
library, or his office. The kitchen! He mustn't
hear me coming. I love my kitchen. 1 love its
many windows. I trip over a chair. Talk about
a sneak attack. This would be funny if my foot
didn't hurt so badly. Maybe he won't hear
me, if I hop on one foot and bite my lip.
"Ouch!"
The doorpost! I should have remembered
the doorpost! I must get off the floor. The
room is spinning. It clears. He is staring at
me over the brim of his glass. His eyes are
wild with drink. The table is littered with
empty bottles. Something smells foul. I must
fight the nausea. Thank goodness for fresh
air! The windows!!
"Why did you break them? You know I love
my windows. You had no right to do it, you
dirty, stinking, ungrateful rat! How dare you
touch my windows?!"
I car>♦'t stop crying. My nose is running.
He snarls at me: "They're not your
windows! They're mine! I paid for them! I
hate your windows. They watch everything I
do! They hear everything I say! They are
constantly condemning me! I despise them!
You're two of a kind!
it
He reaches for a half -empty bottle. I grab
"No! No! No! You must stop or you'll kill
yourself!"
"Give it to me!"
He lunges. I move back. He has me against
the wall. I break it over his head. Liquor and
blood stream down his face. His hands are
around my throat. I can't breathe! He is
dragging me by the throat. I'm choking to
death! I kick him. I scratch at his hands. My
eyes are bulging. My tongue is hanging out.
He is mad! Is this the end? Drool is dripping
off my chin. Am I dying? His hold loosens.
Air! Air! I can breathe again! I strike out. His
fist catches me in the mouth. I spit out teeth.
Blood is pouring down my chin.
He is pulling my hair. He is dragging me by
my own hair! I am screaming. He does not
hear me. He is bellowing in madness. My
head crashes against glass. My windows!
He's destroying the rest of my windows!!
They're mine! I designed them! Please don't
ruin them! I love them! I love them! I love.