Sammy's Window

Sammy sat absent-mindedly on the old brown study table near his window, he held a cup of coffee in his right hand. His gaze was focused on the dim yellow light which looked like it was fighting to be let free from the white window curtains, which now appeared yellow from the illumination. An observer would have thought he was a spy sent to watch his neighbors through the window, but his mind was far away. He wondered why he could no longer sleep, why his life had turned out to be the way it was, why he felt empty, why all the people who ever came into his life always seemed to be in a hurry to leave.

He remembered the days he would come home late and use the window as an entrance because he did not want to wake others, but more because he did not want to hear about how his wife had been worried that he had not been home for three days without communicating. He always thought that his wife, Ally, worried a bit too much. As a result, he always tried to avoid having "discussions" which she would always ask they have after he had done something that she did not agree with.

When he was younger, Sammy did not like school, it always made him feel like he needed to keep proving his adequacy by getting good grades, which he did not. To him, the school had always been one thing, a scale, one which was constantly used to measure him against his peers who were doing better than him. “Why can’t you be like Tracy and Kenny? Those kids do not play with their books like you do Sammy, learn something from them already will you”, Sammy mouthed these words as he pictured his mother standing in the doorway, one hand on the door frame, and the other holding his termly results on her side. This had been a frequent picture in his childhood days. What he did not have the courage to tell his mother is that he really tried, to be like them, but he just was not able to.

In grade three, Sammy learned a new trick to avoid the torture of school. He would wake up earlier than everyone else, grab the padlock, pass through the window, lock the door from outside, and then go back again through the window and shut it. This way, whenever his mother would see the door locked, she would assume that he had already gone to school. He was lucky that she was usually at work around the time he was supposed to come home from school, so he was able to open the door at 5 pm.

Shifting his thoughts to the present, Sammy tried to look for reasons, or even a reason as to why his wife, had suddenly decided to leave him. Two days ago, on Monday, he had returned home from the barbershop to find the table he was now sitting on organized, with books stacked together and put on only one side of the table. This was unusual because the table was where his wife wrote novels and sometimes organized events. Therefore, it was always filled with notebooks, sticky notes, posters, and pens. If it was ever organized, it was in an ill-fashioned way that did not catch his attention like today. Upon looking closely, he realized that the stationery on the table had occupied only the right side of the table, and there was a pink sticky note on the left side, making it oddly conspicuous like it was begging him to pick it up. The note said, “I had to go, am sorry Sammy, goodbye”. It was Ally’s handwriting.

“Why did she leave? Was it because I came home late? But I always explained that work had been much that day and that I needed to finish it before going home. Maybe I should have called and said in advance. Was it because I did not come home on some days? But I told her that I was visiting friends, cousins, or on a tour for the band. Maybe I should have told her before the trips. Was it because I refused to take up that office job? But I told her I was content playing in the band. I like music, it makes me feel like myself. Was it because I called her stupid? But I refrained from beating her like last month, I even said I was sorry and bought her flowers and chocolate”.

Sammy wondered what might have made his wife leave. Had she always thought about it? Had she ever considered leaving through the window, like he had done, and still does on occasion? He thought he had been quite a good husband to Ally than he had been to the previous three. “I guess women are never satisfied, at least with me”, he finally concluded. He suddenly broke into ecstatic laughter that made him almost appear manic for a moment.

He put the still full cup of coffee on the table. He had only sipped it once since he had sat on the table. The coffee had now totally cooled down, and he hated cold coffee. That night, the cold coffee felt like a metaphor for his cold life which seemed to only grow colder the more he tried to escape it, and the more people in his life kept leaving. He sighed, leaped down from the table, and picked up his black suitcase at the foot of the table. He threw the bag out of the window, and then followed passing through the same place. The door to the house was still open, but he did not bother using it. He needed to use this window one last time. Sammy carried his bag into the moonlit night. He had no idea where he was going but he was sure that he needed a new start, maybe another window. What would it be?