A Window

Everly couldn’t sleep. 

Switching on the lamp next to her easel, she sat on the stool and picked up her brushes unconsciously. Her hand automatically dipped a brush into the water jar without any intention of finishing the half-painted canvas in front of her.

It was really a pretty terrible piece, she thought as she looked at it - all grays and blacks and blues, strokes swishing upwards and sideways and into each other. 

It was about as cool and turbulent and exhausted as Everly felt. 

But it wasn’t the painting that was bothering her.

It was her mind that wouldn’t let her sleep.

It’s all that coffee you drink, Stella would have said. 

If Stella were still here. 

Everly’s eyes glanced over at the duffle bag against her will. It was still sitting in the corner by the door.

It contained all the things Stella had left behind: the framed pictures from the bedroom, handwritten notes and cards and invitations from over the past year and a half, two pairs of socks, a flannel pajama shirt, a sweater Everly had found at a Goodwill that fit Stella perfectly, and all Stella’s books - with their perfect spines and dainty bookmarks still stuck in the first chapter.

Everly made a face and looked back to the canvas. The books were so pristine. 

She couldn’t imagine leaving a book like that. All of Everly’s books were worn, tearing at the seams, with dog-eared pages for every good quote. When she finished a book, she held it tightly in her arms like a life preserver. If she let go, the book would slip away into the sea.

Or maybe she would.

Stella had always turned up her nose at Everly’s books. You’ve destroyed them.

They were loved, Everly thought angrily. Not destroyed. And not left alone, sad, cold, untouched.

She was surprised at the harshness of her thoughts. They had never really fought about books.

They fought about plenty of things, but not books.

Something caught Everly’s eye out the window. In a window of one of the sky rises across the way, a yellow light had come on.

Most of the buildings nearby were completely dark. 

What time was it, anyway? 

Everly craned her neck to see the clock in the kitchen. 

4:25.

She turned back towards the newly-alighted window. Maybe someone had just come home from a night shift. 

Maybe they were exhausted after a long night of cleaning. Or maybe they worked at a hospital.

She eyed the rest of the building. Not particularly fancy.

Who knows? Maybe they were a doctor. Even doctors couldn’t make enough to get an especially nice apartment these days.

Besides, the city never really slept, she thought to herself with a sigh. Seemed romantic when you first arrived, fresh from the farmhouse or the small town or the suburb, but now Everly was just tired.

She got up and walked over to the window, looking down at the shorter buildings. Some of their lights were still on - the 24/7 diner, the late-night laundromat. If she squinted at the corner of the window, she could make out the red lights coming from the jazz bar Stella used to drag her to. 

It’s not that she didn’t like jazz, but the clientele made Everly’s skin crawl. A bunch of wanna-be godfathers in suits who flew down the streets from the financial district in their BMWs or Range Rovers or whatever the hell they wanted to show off, arriving just in time to grab a drink and get situated before the middle class 20-somethings arrived in bodycon dresses to be gawked at, and obliged them.

Stella had said she found it charming, old-fashioned, but she really just liked getting the attention of the men - even when she was with Everly. 

After all, that was the type of guy Stella had run away with, right?

He listens to me, Ev. He listens when I’m upset and he doesn’t just stare into the distance or pick at the paint on his hands, Stella had said the night she left. Plus, he’s got a real job. He’s present. He lives life to the fullest, he… he grabs life by the horns, and … takes what he wants.

Yeah, I’m aware of the taking-what-he-wants part, Everly had responded coolly. 

Stella’s eyes had narrowed. Well, maybe I’m taking what I want for the first time, too.

Then she had started to pack her things.

Everly’s eyes flicked back to the duffle bag.

Well, not all her things.

Shaking the memories from her mind, Everly went to the kitchen for coffee.

She knew it wouldn’t help her sleep, but she remembered there was some left over in the pot from earlier and she could already taste it on her lips. 

Stella had always said it was unhealthy to develop an addiction for caffeine, especially seeing as Everly’s mother had been an alcoholic.

It was true - her mother was an alcoholic. That was why Everly never touched the stuff.

But she could compensate with coffee and she didn’t see anything wrong with that.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t loosen up a little more at the jazz bar, too.

The last thing Stella had said before she slammed the door had been, You convince people you’ve got this air of freedom and art but you’re really just wound so tight with anxiety that one day you’re going to burst. And I’m not going to let it get all over me. 

Everly took a sip of the coffee - never as good as she thought it would be in the middle of the night - and noticed with dismay she had grabbed Stella’s old “Bee Mine” mug with the trail of a cartoon bee drawing the shape of a heart. 

She downed the coffee in three gulps, threw the mug into the trash, and walked back to the window. 

She felt a chill and pulled her arms around herself.

The light caught her eye again. So warm, so inviting. 

The person who lived there was probably nice. They probably lived alone, too. Maybe they were reheating a frozen dinner, or maybe they had made something ahead of time. Maybe it was a sweet grandmother waking up early to do her morning prayers, making some muffins to put in the oven. Maybe it was a kind man with salt and pepper hair prepping for his morning run with his dog. Maybe it was a young woman, recently single, who was looking for a nice girl ...

Everly chuckled once. 

She heard Stella’s voice in her head, Pathetic.

She looked longingly at her easel. Her hands ached to paint, to quiet her thoughts, but the dark colors still tumbled inside her head, her heart. And she was tired of dark colors. 

She turned back to the window and strained harder to look at the cozy yellow light. 

She didn’t care who lived there - a man, a woman, old or young, rich or poor. She wanted to be there with them, talking, smiling, eating, whatever it is they were doing. 

She knew they were someone kind, someone understanding. Someone who knew life and had been through it, but still had light inside them. 

Someone who would smile at her jokes and  who wouldn’t judge her for her anxiety or her fear of addiction. Someone patient and full of life and wouldn’t abandon her without warning. 

Someone who cherished books as much as she did and knew how to make a mean cup of coffee, even in the middle of the night.

Someone who would let her paint when she wanted to, be who she wanted to, let her--

The light went out.

Everly was left staring at her own reflection in the darkness.

She dropped her hand from her face, and - for a split second - she thought she saw a look of determination. 

She cocked her head, the reflection mirroring her.

It made her smile.

She walked slowly, almost floating, back to her stool and sat down. She looked at the painting. Then she picked up a brush, dipped it in yellow, and started to paint a small window.