The woman in the window
For the better part of a week, I have watched this woman from my balcony. I never see her in the morning, only later in the day. The shutters remain closed until the evening hours when they open and I watch movement inside.
The old woman comes to the window frequently. She doesn’t simply look out the window, but she hangs out the window. The same tired expression on her face, and always a cigarette, puffing, making it last until the last ashes drop to the street below. She finishes one and a few minutes later, returns with another one lit. She remains until she finishes it and then disappears into the living room. Last night, she returned with a lit cigarette at least six times. She knows we are here, but she never makes eye contact with us.
There are at least three generations living in this apartment. We have watched the old woman, a younger woman who we think is her daughter and then two small children. Plus there’s the white poodle. He happily appears throughout the day when the young woman takes him for his daily walk. Even now, I hear him yapping across the way. He seems happy.
I wonder how many cigarettes she has smoked outside this window and what goes through her mind as she looks from one intersection to the other, hanging out the window, watching the traffic on this busy street. It’s busy on this corner, but it’s only at night that she seems interested in the movement. She appears tired and worn out. Her arms hang down and each time, she grips her hair, outwardly expressing her tiredness. How long has she lived in this place? More than likely, all her life.
The apartment seems to have 5 floors (two top balconies which are rare in this area), 4 of which are falling apart from neglect and time. We think they only live on that one floor.
We never see her leave. We did see the young girl at the market, buying ham and cheese. Life revolves daily and repeats itself as if on a loop. The woman in the window never changes.
