I keep asking Nic — “Can we leave our blinds up tonight? at least til 7? til 8? til 9? Can we let other people know there is life in here?”
He says no. He doesn’t want people seeing what we’re doing.
Our neighbor tells us she signed the petition against installing another light on our block. She likes it dark. And that we can keep the trick-or-treaters away on Halloween by turning off our own lights. She drives straight in and out of her garage, her body never orbiting onto the lawn or sidewalk most days.
But the people across the street leave their curtains undrawn. 2 dogs & 1 cat sit in the window round the clock. A beagle, a poodle & a calico. Teenagers come in & out in spurts. The parents work as firefighters; I hear car engines at hours I can’t believe. I can see the tv shows they’re watching and when they’re grabbing something from a kitchen cupboard. There is always life over there. I am comforted.
Our front door is painted the ugliest shade of green, and it sticks and growls and howls. It’s atrocious on so many fronts. But it has 3 angled windows, on a slant. It lets light in. When the door is open, images of the trees out front scatter across the glass and green wood, painting the room with leaves. It is magic. Life from the outside, come in. Not closed, but open. Life here, life there.