The complex next to 20 Brooks is built at a half level to ours. So, I look 45 degrees down into the lounge of my neighbors. I don’t know them, but I know their habits.
Not staring but, you know, you’re washing the dishes or turning on the TV and you look out the window and there she is, watching TV on the sofa, or he’s hanging with some buds, or she’s reading, or they’re eating, or whatever.
So one night I’m watching a DVD, and it stops, so I go to eject it. The player is right by the window.
I change movies and then casually look out the window. The next series of events takes about one and a half seconds.
I look down and, to my horror; the neighbors are going for gold on the couch. She’s on top, he’s on the bottom and I’m paralyzed like a rabbit in headlights watching his girlfriend’s behind bounce up and down.
Several thoughts go through my head in a speedy succession; “Oh my God they’re having sex, their couch is going to get stained, am I a nerd for laying a towel down before couch sex, that really is an ugly couch, it’s sad that I found my couch in the alley behind the building, I didn’t think she’d be the type to have a tramp stamp tattoo, gosh that’s a lot of anatomy, I wonder if she’s always on top and this is a comment on their relationship, I hope they’re using protection, that’s no apartment to be raising a child in, my windows are not clean on the outside.”
This stream of thoughts come under an umbrella thought of, “I really, really did not want to see this.”
Then for some reason, at this precise moment, the boyfriend stops and pokes his head out from under his girlfriend to see me at the window and we make eye contact for a micro-second.
This is when I remember that I am naked.
You see, I grew up in a house where we tended to walk around without much clothing on, and I’ve been a big fan of the fresh air ever since. But the coincidental timing of my home hobby and their home hobby does not a comfortable moment make.
I then consider how I’m standing naked, ominously lit from below by the floor lamp, watching them bang. Throw in a midget clown and it’s a David Lynch film.
I retreat from the window fast and consider for a brief moment going over to their place to explain what just happened. Which is the one thing that would probably make this even weirder.
So instead I sit on my alley-found couch, thinking about what they are probably thinking about me.
To this day, their blinds have never been open again. I know because I stand at the window for hours watching. Waiting….