Windowsill: Monologue of a Past Self

image curtesy of the Public Domain Review

by Ilana Maymind

I am sitting on a windowsill. My mom says not to sit here. She is not at home now. She is still at work. She just called and said she might be late tonight.
I love sitting on a windowsill. I love watching people moving behind their curtains. Sometimes they open them wide; then you can see even better. I love sitting here, especially on a sunny day. The windowsill gets so warm.
Mom says I shouldn’t sit on a windowsill and look into people’s windows. She says it is like spying or summoning myself into someone’s life. It is like being an uninvited guest that everyone is anxious to see leave. She said I should live my own life.
I still like sitting on a windowsill. Our courtyard’s windows face each other. The courtyard is shaped like the letter “C.” There is a wide entrance to the courtyard from the street. The bread truck comes through it. There is also a main entrance to the lobby from the street. People usually use the lobby entrance, but trucks and a few cars that come here go through the wide courtyard entrance.
The bread truck usually comes at night, bringing freshly baked loaves of bread. Outside the courtyard is a bakery or a bread store. They do not bake bread there. It comes by the bread truck from a big bakery somewhere else. When the bread truck comes, a truck driver unloads heavy boxes of fresh bread with much noise. It usually happens at night, and the truck driver is probably mad that we all get to sleep while he has to deal with these heavy boxes.
Occasionally Mom lets me go to the bread store. I love those little white raisin rolls. They are especially good on the day when the bread truck brings them. They are crunchy and delicious. Very fresh.
I do not think it is interesting to watch the bread truck, but if I am not asleep or the truck driver wakes me up, I look at my ceiling. There are some interesting lines. They interweave and form mysterious shapes and figures. They are from the truck’s headlights. I know it, but I still think they are very mysterious. Maybe they are some outer space signs or signals? If I am not asleep, I watch them, but I love watching people much more. Especially on a sunny day when people move behind their curtains, either open or closed. Sometimes I see silhouettes and sometimes I see real people. And sometimes people even open their windows, not just curtains.
There is a boy on the third floor. His window faces mine. He never sits on his windowsill but sometimes he stands by his window and watches me. He probably thinks I am a spy. Or maybe he would like to play with me.
Mom says she probably is going to be late tonight. My sister, Janet, is off with her friends. She is eight years older than I am. She says I have too big ears and want to know too much. She says I had better do my homework rather than sit on this windowsill. She says she was better organized when she was my age. She does not say anything about Mom. She does not say that Mom did not work when Janet was my age. She does not say that when she was my age, someone always opened the door when she came back from school.
This boy on the third floor is also at home. His mother is serving him some food. I see it, but I can’t see what it is that he eats. His window curtains are half-closed. Even if they had been open, I couldn’t see. It is not so close.
I shouldn’t sit on the windowsill. I should do my homework. But it is so warm here that I don’t want to move. Maybe next time I will wave to the boy. But probably not.

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