The Balcony

The balcony became my new home in those days. I was out there every morning as the sun would rise far back over the horizon line which I could see just beyond the lake that circled below my apartments. I would have a cup of coffee and lazily drift in and out of daydreams for longer than I care to remember. The daydreams were a savior to me in a certain sense. They saved me from the monotonous blur of dreary days that slithered by like some simple time lapse set on repeat. It was a lonely orbit around visions of better days. 

It was a Thursday that I began talking to the old lady on the balcony to the left of mine. It was separated by a turquoise fencing but the boards were spaced far enough apart that we could see each others faces if we sat back just far enough at just the right angle. I was plucking a slow finger-picking tune on my old Fender acoustic when I heard a soft, muffled cry on the other side. 

“It’s the same song my husband would play,” She mumbled dolefully. 

I later found out that her husband had died fighting in the Korean war. His base was attacked in the middle of the night. A letter that she received from one of his closest friends had informed her that he died bravely and with honor. There was a set of explosions that blasted the side wall of their shack and he was flung across the room breaking his arm in such a way that it was twisted almost backwards and had his wrist dangling like a broken twig at the end of a branch. He still pushed on and managed to drag two of his fellow comrades out into a ditch nearby and was on the way in to help a third before another explosion went off. That explosion would be the one to take his life. 

“Do you still think about him often?” I asked curiously after hearing the story.

“Oh dear God, yes. Of course I do. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of my big bear,” she spoke softly. “I’m ninety three years old and I never remarried if that tells you anything, honey.”

I thought about my girlfriend and what would happen between us. I had traveled back to America to visit my family and she stayed in China to be with hers. The virus spread quicker and more devastatingly than either of us could have ever fathomed and in almost the blink of an eye all countries were locked down. The political heat was rising and our homes were beginning to look at each other as enemies. 

“What’s the best memory you have of him?” I asked her as I reminisced one of my own. 

“Well...’’ She said. “Let’s see. I remember one time long ago he took me to what he called his secret spot. He drove me up this long mountain road somewhere in North Carolina. I can’t remember the name of the city for the life of God right now but I can remember how absolutely beautiful the drive up was.” She paused for a moment as if to remember before she continued. “The roads twisted and turned and the mountain seemed to wrap around us as the trees colored our views with lavishing shades of the most beautiful emerald green you could imagine. That wasn’t even the best part though.”

“What was?” I asked before sipping my coffee. 

“He parked the car near a little wooden hut and we got out and hiked another thin trail up for about a mile. Then there it was... The waterfall.” She said this part melodiously. Almost as if getting sucked back into the memory like it was yesterday. 

The silence brought me back in time also. We were in Tahiti at a waterfall of our own. One of the locals took us up somewhere far off in the island mountain to a scenic paradise. The water fell over the ridge of the mountain with such power and ferocity that I felt insignificant standing there under such a mighty force. It was breathlessly tantalizing as the cool mist carried across the wind and dribbled softly across your skin. Each drop would send little cold chills that would run the length of your body. The more I lost myself in that memory, the more I absentmindedly convinced myself I could feel those drops of water again as I contently swum through those reveries on my balcony. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” She asked. “I can slide it under the fencing. There should be enough space for my Italian cups.”

“No thank you. I appreciate it though. I’m going to keep sipping this coffee. It’s my isolation vice now,” I said pushing out a giggle. 

“Suit yourself,” she said playfully. 

I sipped my coffee and let my sights drift out towards the water below me. It was so still and motionless. It had no heartache, no virus, no worry except to simply exist and others would be able to stroll along and see the natural beauty manifested in its placid waters. Human life thrived on a much more complex nature which, at times, I wished wasn’t so complex. But those complexities brought forth such emotions that once you felt them, they would be worth any and every bit of suffering the world could muster. 

“Oh dear GOD!” I heard the old lady almost scream from inside her apartment. 

“Are you OK?” I shouted. I jumped up quickly and pressed my face against the fencing trying to see diagonally into her home but the view was cut off just beyond the sliding screen door. “Are you OK?” I shouted again. This time a little louder and showing more concern in my vocals. “Do you need help?”

She walked back out with a cup of tea in her hand and sat calmly into her wicker chair without saying anything. I could feel something was wrong but I didn’t want to press her now that she seemed comfortable in her chair with her tea. The feeling began growing in my knees and I could feel little waves of fear crawled up my muscles and tightening my joints. I could feel something was very wrong. Something big.

“America is going to war with China,” she spoke motionlessly. “Turn on your television. This one won’t end pretty.”