I See You

9:43 p.m.

Can you see me?

You're looking out the window with a scared look on your face. You must not be able to see me because if you did you would know I was here for you, watching out for you, and you would feel safe. You would feel safe if you knew I was here for you. I want to scream out across the deserted street, "Here I am Vanessa! I'm right here at the bus stop bench. The streetlight is out but I'm here. I promise." But if I yell out, then my cover will be blown. So, I stand and watch—waiting.

I think about how much you want me to be with you tonight. So much that you stay home on a Saturday night, waiting for me to come and see you. Maybe that's why you look out the window so frequently, like a young girl waiting for her daddy to come home from work. And your blue eyes, those eyes that I've seen so serene and calm, they are tumultuous like the waves of an ocean storm. I sense your fear. I want to protect you from it. I'll come to you and take you in my arms and you won’t feel a thing but my arms around you.

Nothing will be able to hurt you after I get to.

10:21 p.m.

I light a cigarette and feel warmer at the thought of us being together. Maybe I should call you to let you know that I'm here, to let you know that everything is okay. I move from my spot at the bus stop to the pay phone at the mini mart with the caged windows, a relic of the past that allows me to continue our game of hide and seek. My wind-kissed hand fumbles in my pocket for change. I know it’s cold, but I don't feel it. Thoughts of you make me warm.

I dial the number I have dialed so many times before. You answer and your voice trembles with delight. Hello, you say. I wait, wanting to hear your soft voice again. Who's there, you ask even though I can hear my name on the tip of your tongue. You ask the question again, this time with more of a tremor in your tone. How excited you are that I'm calling you! You know it's me, don't you? Just knowing that makes you happy, doesn't it? I don't need to speak then. My job of comforting you is done. I'll just hang up and wait for you to look out the window again.

10:37 p.m.

There you are. I see your hand pull at the curtain again and a lock of your hair falls on its smooth surface. I knew you would come looking for me. You wouldn't know what to do if I wasn't in your life. I know. Those words I whisper out loud often because I feel the same. I know.

What did you ever do without me? I find myself wondering about that in these moments when I’m standing outside your house. Before you found me the great condo to live in, did you think about meeting someone like me? When I came to your office and said that I needed a realtor, did you jump at the chance to help me? When I signed the final papers, did you picture coming home to the condo after a long day of work and curling up on the couch with me? I bet you did. We think the same. But it’s been seven months Vanessa, and you haven’t come by once. I am always the one that comes to see you.

10:58 p.m.

I hate that yellow shirt, the one with the low-cut neck that you wear when you try to make me feel jealous. You're wearing it tonight, the sleeve peaks out from behind your curtain as you pull it back enough to let me know that you're still waiting for me. I don't know why you want me to be jealous because I hate myself when I'm jealous.

I think about what there is to be jealous about. I know that you sometimes have a boyfriend, Tim, who comes over only once in awhile when he needs something from you. I’m sure. I know I am the only one in your life who comes for you all the time and I feel so lucky to have someone like you. Someone who’s beautiful and smart and so full of life. I knew that I loved you when I met you. From the first time I saw you I just had to be with you. Even when you told me no, that Tim and you were dating. I just couldn't listen. I had to be near you. I know this isn’t something that he feels for you, and you deserve total devotion. So, I'll give it to you.

I can still remember the first time I came home with you. It was the evening when we filed the final paperwork for my new place at your office. You twisted your neck around in a teasing way, muttering that you were sore from a long day. Your eyes opened and met

mine, begging me in silence to come home with you. So, I drove my car while you drove yours, and I followed you home. But when we got there, Tim's car was in the driveway and you ran inside to meet him. You must have forgotten about the plans that you had made with him for the night or you wouldn't have sent me the inviting signals.

11:09 p.m.

I look at my watch and notice that it's about when you start your bedtime routine. Would you like some company? I would love to be there in the darkness of your room with you. Maybe then you wouldn't be so scared of whatever it is that makes you jump at every noise. In the parking lot at your work, in the aisle of the grocery store at night, everywhere you are without me right by your side, you jump. If you would let me in, everything would be okay. Maybe then I could protect you more than the gun in the drawer of your nightstand.

If I could just get into the house, but you're playing the games again. How I got in last time-- the bedroom window-- you've barred up. You told me you would do that the last time I surprised you. I was there only to leave you flowers and take a small momento of you, something to remember your smell by. “How did you get in?” you asked. Your breathlessness made me see you were delighted at the surprise. “This has got to stop,” you said. And then I understood just you deep the emotional attachment we had for each other was. I could feel the intensity and how it made you slightly afraid. I saw your hands shake. I left quietly, slipping out the way I had come in- the window. I tried to give you space for a bit, time for you to trust that the intensity of our feelings was a good thing.  Then, I couldn’t help it. The first time I found you again, I knew you felt the same. You still looked over your shoulder for me. You missed me.

You're sending me a sign now with the barred-up windows. You're trying to make me think more about how I need to be with you and come up with ingenious ways to get to you. You want me to want you more. Even though I crave you. All the time.

I'll play your little game. I'll find a way in so when I show you that I’ve figured you out and overcome your game you'll grab me and scream and be delighted. But you’ll question me like always about how I know you so well. Because I love you, I’ll tell you.

You love me too even though you said last time that you didn’t. Why are you so confused about us?

11:37 p.m.

The corner of the curtain is pulled back again and you're crying now. I bet that Tim did something to you again. And now you're all alone and breaking my heart with your tears. Are you trying to hurt me? To anger me? Why won't you let me love you like I need to? Like you need me to. You could be in my arms with all the comfort I could possibly give at your disposal. I grow tired of waiting on your street night after night. I watch you cry so often, and I can't help you because you won't let me. How can I get to you in these times when you need me? I try to think about all the games you play and tell myself that it's just a flirtatious move on your part. But you make me mad. You make me want to leave you and throw away our relationship. Is that what you want, I feel myself screaming. Is that what you want?

I feel the anger coming and pinch it away to the background. I need to be with you now, and I think you need me more than ever. I cross the street and slink across your lawn, squatting in the box bushes next to the mailbox. The surprise will be made. Oh, you’ll be shocked when you see me, won't you? “How did you get in here”, you'll ask, happy that I went to great lengths to come see you. You'll tremble like I do when I’m near you or even just thinking about you. Your tears will dry on my shoulder, and I’ll hold you finally and tell you how much I love you.

You never believe me when I tell you that. I love you, I say, and you back away and tell me that I'm crazy. Why don’t you think that I can love you? Do you not think you are good enough for love? You are, you are.

12:01 p.m.

I see you. You give me the sign. The light in the living room goes out and you move through the house to the bedroom where you turn on that light. I can't wait to get my hands on you. A car. A car is driving down your street and I see the bar of blue

and red on the roof from your bushes.

But the cops drive by and leave me to be with you.

I move to the side door of your house and pause. My heart is pounding in my chest at the thought of being next to you again. It's been so long. Two months. Two months since I smelled the ginger of your shampoo. Two months since I could see the pink of your flushed cheeks. Two months. I catch my breath.

With the thoughts of our imminent reunion fresh in my mind, I stand straight and smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt. If I ring the doorbell, you will not let me in. Sometimes I think you play too hard to get. I must try another way. The doorknob will be locked as usual. The windows will be a futile task since every one of them boast steel bars. Except, a ha! The small kitchen window on the door around the back has no bars and is sometimes open during these warm summer evenings. I squeal like a child with a new toy and rush to the back, thinking about your face when I find you.

The window is closed but unlocked. I open it and push it open it. It will be a tight squeeze, but I can do it. I look around for something to boost my height, and then I hear a car and see its lights glowing on the nearby bushes in the backyard.

Footsteps and a jingling of metal, as a key is put into your front door and the lock turns. As the door shuts, I walk to the corner of the house and see the car, Tim's car, in the driveway behind yours. The blue sedan that I see you driving sometimes around town. I walk past it and drag my finger through the non-existent dust on the hood

and the side and the trunk. I look down at the cracks in the pavement.

You called Tim to come and comfort you and not me. When will you learn that I am the one for you? I leave the yard, feeling rejected once again. I stop at the curb across the street for one last look and think about telling you again how I feel. I'll come back tomorrow of course and hopefully we'll be alone.