He waits by the window
He waits by the window, wry smile but a lifeless grin as if carved in mouthless, many-faced granite. Not creepy though, just patient, floating in time there when the sky light left its last rays behind to be chased away by the darkening sky. Who he was, I had not idea. That he was in fact there, and nowhere else in my mind took many nights to know. He was waiting for a writer, could be me, could be anyone whose window he had waited by before he came my way. He might even leave me, given a better opportunity. I don’t write novels.
There were stories just lurking all around him, that much even a non-fiction author like me could tell. They were waiting to be unleashed so that he would appear on the page, and not by my window, or anyone else’s.
Do I ask him to tell me one of those stories, or am I the source that projects him there. This is not the foolish question it seems. If I give him a name, could be speak to me when I call him. Or do I have to guess it like some outdoor game of shady, motionless charades.
“Your name is Will, I said, not of the determination kind, but of-the-wisp my inspiration for so calling him. Your last name is Parker, like that of an old musician friend, like that of the jazz spirit that inspires, an elder I once met, or of a pen that you write with when keyboards seem so unmoving.
You may have spent time here once before buildings or clearings closed and opened the spaces between people. It was a time when you disappeared into the very air breathed at the moment, a long time before you had much of a story to tell. You were a child, grew up without distinction, left home without looking back, but looking for something. The character you were to become had no lines, no passage, no paragraphs yet. What I am looking at now is all you have been till now. But you have become a you not a he now. I just realized that now.
You will develop again when I see you next, which I am sure I will do. We have character, author but the story is yet the foggy part. One morning will clear the mist.