My apartment faces a street- a fairly busy street. I like watching the street from the window. I like watching people and the movement and I like the fact that I can't hear them. SO I don;t know what they're saying, what their names are, where they are headed. Because then I can make that all up. And that becomes my own story for these characters that I am looking at.
I like doing this at night. Becasue then the street is not overly busy. So my characters are few and I can focus on them. Being a trendy neighborhood, come weekends especially, there are always the trendy people. All dolled and fancied up for a night about town. The older man, the younger woman. The newly dating couple. The married couple. The hispters in a large group. The older couple headed to a quiet sit down dinner. The group of girlfriends. They stand at the traffic light just beneath my window while the signal takes its own time to let them pass. There in those few minutes, a lot may happen for a story to unravel. The couple may sometimes kiss. Makes me then wonder- married, newly engaged, dating, serious, just a fling? Does he love her more than she loves him or vice versa. Will she meet a friend of his tonight at the restaurant and fall for him. Are they cheating on each other.
The older couple- she steps off the road as almost the same time as the signal changes and he holds her back. She turns at him and she is annoyed. She says something to him and he flings his hands on the air. She walks away without waiting for him. He follows, muttering. Power struggle? She thinks he is too controlling. She is a grown up and can take care of herself, least of all cross the street. But he doesn't think that of her. He is muttering as he walks. Why is she this way- every time he reaches out, she withdraws. Recoils, actually. Physically and emotionally. All he did was grasp her arm and pull her way from what was potentially unsafe. There are drivers that try and get through the last minute. So, she can't trust him. but it was only that one time. That one time and he got caught. And she will not forgive or forget or trust him again. She will only walk away every time for everything.
The girlfriends. Laughing, hugging each other spontaneously a shout at the guy across the street, check out the bags in the show window and while doing this, almost miss the walking signal but then hold hands and dash across the street in high heels and glitzy bags laughing their head off in gay reckless abandon. Dolled up, showing off skin, strutting in heels that do not look so comfortable.Check each other out, size her up and down, peek over the kissing couple. Get home perhaps, the make up comes off, the shoes flung away and massage the hurting feet. Thank god for girlfriends and girls night out. Now a pajama party. More shots, PJ's, comments about how being fashionable is so painful - what could compare to flannel PJ's and house slippers? One breaks down, she is drunk so the talking is so much easier. She can't stay home any more- the parents fight all the time, the abusive dad. the girls gather around. Band of sisters, woman to woman . Holding her hand, letting her talk, sharing their experiences. Gone is the glitz, the glamour, the make up. This is real.
So stuff like that. To me, people are what stories are made up of. People are stories. And when they walk around like that I try and tell them to myself.
Oh , and the subway! Now, that's another story....wait, stories.
I like doing this at night. Becasue then the street is not overly busy. So my characters are few and I can focus on them. Being a trendy neighborhood, come weekends especially, there are always the trendy people. All dolled and fancied up for a night about town. The older man, the younger woman. The newly dating couple. The married couple. The hispters in a large group. The older couple headed to a quiet sit down dinner. The group of girlfriends. They stand at the traffic light just beneath my window while the signal takes its own time to let them pass. There in those few minutes, a lot may happen for a story to unravel. The couple may sometimes kiss. Makes me then wonder- married, newly engaged, dating, serious, just a fling? Does he love her more than she loves him or vice versa. Will she meet a friend of his tonight at the restaurant and fall for him. Are they cheating on each other.
The older couple- she steps off the road as almost the same time as the signal changes and he holds her back. She turns at him and she is annoyed. She says something to him and he flings his hands on the air. She walks away without waiting for him. He follows, muttering. Power struggle? She thinks he is too controlling. She is a grown up and can take care of herself, least of all cross the street. But he doesn't think that of her. He is muttering as he walks. Why is she this way- every time he reaches out, she withdraws. Recoils, actually. Physically and emotionally. All he did was grasp her arm and pull her way from what was potentially unsafe. There are drivers that try and get through the last minute. So, she can't trust him. but it was only that one time. That one time and he got caught. And she will not forgive or forget or trust him again. She will only walk away every time for everything.
The girlfriends. Laughing, hugging each other spontaneously a shout at the guy across the street, check out the bags in the show window and while doing this, almost miss the walking signal but then hold hands and dash across the street in high heels and glitzy bags laughing their head off in gay reckless abandon. Dolled up, showing off skin, strutting in heels that do not look so comfortable.Check each other out, size her up and down, peek over the kissing couple. Get home perhaps, the make up comes off, the shoes flung away and massage the hurting feet. Thank god for girlfriends and girls night out. Now a pajama party. More shots, PJ's, comments about how being fashionable is so painful - what could compare to flannel PJ's and house slippers? One breaks down, she is drunk so the talking is so much easier. She can't stay home any more- the parents fight all the time, the abusive dad. the girls gather around. Band of sisters, woman to woman . Holding her hand, letting her talk, sharing their experiences. Gone is the glitz, the glamour, the make up. This is real.
So stuff like that. To me, people are what stories are made up of. People are stories. And when they walk around like that I try and tell them to myself.
Oh , and the subway! Now, that's another story....wait, stories.
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