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Fire Escape
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You could see her from your fire escape. Not in a creepy way. You weren't out there with binoculars and your hand in your underwear. It was purely accidental; one bitter night where the sky was clear and you were desperate for a smoke. If you hadn't spent so much money redecorating, you probably would have smoked inside, but fuck it if you didn't want your place smelling like an ashtray.
So there you were, sitting on the rails, looking out into the dingy view of the alley and wondering whether it was worth quitting when she turned on her lights and walked into your peripheral view, sealing your fate.
You didn't mean to stare. You didn't plan on looking longer than that initial glance to see why the light had come on, but then your eyes couldn't look away. She wasn't doing anything of particular interest, just standing in view, reading whatever she was holding in her hand. And then she laughed, her smile infectious, and you smiled, too.
There was something peaceful about people watching, seeing them so at ease with themselves, and as you took another drag, you wondered what her story was. Who was she? What did she do? What made her laugh so beautifully? What brought her to the city? Did she really like the yellow of that wall or was that the colour originally there when she moved in?
Whatever the answers to those questions, you resigned yourself to the fact you would never know them, and finally looked away. Your cigarette was almost done, and the cold was still as bitter as it was when you climbed out there. Perhaps it was time to head back inside.
Before you could make that move, though, another window was opening, and there she was, climbing out in a much more elegant fashion than you had managed. There was no way you could move now, not without her seeing you, and that could not happen.
So instead, you remained still, watching as she brushed herself off, half closing the window behind her. Fixated on her, you observed as she looked out over the alley, glanced up to the sky and then back down again. She ran her hand through her blonde hair, ruffling it, and if you weren't mistaken, it looked like she was talking under her breath to herself.
She didn't scream crazy, nor did she look like she was going to take a flying leap. If anything, it was merely like she was berating herself for something, and god, you knew that well. There wasn't a day that went past were you didn't insult yourself for something completely ridiculous or foolish you had done; and when you finally went back inside you knew you'd bitch yourself out for staring at your neighbour like she was on some show.
Shaking your head at yourself, you rose the cigarette to your lips once more, and watched as she looked up, seeing you for the first time, causing you to freeze.
She was looking right at you, across the way, fire escape to fire escape, unwavering in her gaze. Your momentarily look of being caught in headlights dimmed away slowly, and you relaxed into your typical confident posture.
Taking that drag you had been so desperate for, you watched as her eyes flicked to your cigarette and then back to you. She didn't look disgusted, nor judgemental. Instead, she smiled a smirk you wanted to know more about, and you found yourself pressing closer to the rail, as if you could physically move closer to her.
She saw your intrigue, and with a parting smile, she headed back inside, leaving you frowning. Stubbing your cigarette out in the ashtray you had snuck out there, you made your move to climb back inside.
That was enough creeping on your neighbours for one night. No more.
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You intended to forget about how you spent that part of your evening, but when you returned home from work the next day, there was a clear reminder pinned to the door of the building. For whatever reason you chose to read it, where you'd normally bypass these as nuisance flyers, but this was different, and you were curious.
Fire escape – if you ever feel like quitting, Dr. Q. Fabray would be happy to help you.
Fire escape; that was you, unless someone else had been out there last night. Taking the note down, you held it in your hand as you climbed the stairs to your place. Once inside, door closed, you looked it over once more.
Typically when someone told you to quit, you snarled in their face and told them to mind their own business, so what was making this different? Why were you even pausing to consider? Was it because a pretty girl was suggesting you quit? Was that really it?
Crumpling up the note, you rolled your eyes and threw it in your trash.
Three ex-girlfriends and one ex-fiancé hadn't managed to get you to quit, so what chance did this stranger have. No, no thanks. You were happy as you were. And whoever Dr. Q. Fabray was, well they were just going to have to do without you as another smoking statistic.
It was your life, and you intended to live it how you pleased.
And later that night, when you were desperate for a smoke, you did. You climbed out, relished in the feeling of the smoke in your lungs, and enjoyed all it had to offer.
Not even once did you glance over as to where the blonde lived, and not once did you feel bad about not going to Dr. Fabray to get help quitting.
This was your escape, your moment away from the world, and you weren't giving that up for nothing.
If only you had known.
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