Under the cover of my sacred blue checkered blanket i was wishing for wind, with my face pressed up against my square back window. My bed had been migrating towards it for over a week now; it’s a curious obsession i have, staring into my neighbor’s windows. I think i am jealous of him because i want to watch him but he does not want to watch me. Tonight my bed moved altogether, so that he could see as much of me as i can of him. I was looking to trade lives: my nights for his.


I tempt him. I play guitar in front of the window as soon as the roommates leave in the morning, half-naked, thrashing and strumming loud enough for him to hear. I flicker my string of lights on and off at night while feigning sleep to see if he looks my way. I sit, postured, on my wooden stool, glaring at my broken webpage.

At first he would slip me into sleep with his idle routine and the way he lazily cuddled with his dog, but lately he has been keeping me awake. Tonight i was lying there wishing for wind and rain because i wanted to hear the sound of it pressing in on my room, unable to enter, and i didn’t care if it would make my spying any harder. It was just past four when i got what i said i wanted, with a tiny tinkling of drops on the pane. I found myself unthinkingly focusing past them to see his yellow light and blue walls.


At five he turned over and looked right at me; i had thought he had fallen asleep with his lights on. I self-consciously flicked the lights on and stood up, suddenly naked and vulnerable in the harsh florescence of my bedroom. Maybe i don’t like the tables turned as much as i thought i would. Up out of my bed, i slid on a tee-shirt and stalked over to my kitchen stool to check my email, and he turned back over.

I’m starting to realize that no one wants you to put on a show; they just want to see what you would do if they weren’t there.