Uncertain Smile

“A howling wind that blows the litter as the rain flows
As street lamps pour orange colored shapes through your windows
A broken soul, stares from a pair of watering eyes
Uncertain emotions force an uncertain smile”

Uncertain Smile, The The

Each day, he was there. If it wasn’t in the morning when she pulled back her drapes, it was later in the evening; either when she checked that all of the doors were securely locked, or as she closed the drapes before finally getting into bed.

It had been almost a week since Carol had first learned of his daily presence outside of her home. That first night, she’d been woken from a fitful sleep (she’d had a lot of those since Matt had left her alone with their dreams and returned to his wife) by the constant blinking of the malfunctioning street lamp directly outside her bedroom window, on…off…on…off…on…off, every 30 seconds or so.

As she sat at her desk now, completing the “Dear Matt” letter that she’d tried and failed to write for the last four months, she reflected on how help comes from the strangest places when you least expect it. As she brought all of her lines of argument together in a logical and emotionally detached close that could leave no uncertainty with Matt (or with herself) that things were well and truly over, she allowed herself a deeply heartfelt sigh, albeit one accompanied by a gentle and enigmatic smile which seemed to bounce and reflect inside of her just as much as it did around the room. “It’s over, time to move on” she said to herself as she wrote out his new address, the one belonging to the house that was to have been their home together, the one where he’d  chosen to rekindle the dying embers of his marriage instead.

Carol found herself gravitating towards the window and was rewarded by a nod of acknowledgment from her ‘stranger’. Her smile widened at this, into something that threatened to throw off as much light as the lamp he stood under. It was hard to think that only six days before, her response to seeing him there, just standing perfectly still and looking up at her had been so very different. She had been scared at first, scared to the point of calling the police and demanding that he be arrested, beaten (maybe), prosecuted (definitely) and a restriction order granted (absolutely).

Instead, for some reason that she understood neither then or now (nor tried to, she just accepted the mystery gratefully), she had found herself following her heart rather than the contents of the Self-Preservation for Women guidebook. Somehow she had known instinctively that his was a gentle soul that would be irretrievably damaged if not handled with care. Somehow she had allowed herself to trust those instincts; that there was a deeper reason for this man appearing in her life; that like Dickens’ ghost of Christmas future, this thin wraith of a man with vacant, watering eyes somehow stood like a signpost, pointing out the direction her life was heading in.

That first night, hot tears (borne out of sheer frustration, increasing desperation and her recent and growing familiarity with insomnia) had stung at her eyes as she got out of bed and wearily dragged herself over to the window. Struggling vainly to get her brain into gear (and continuing to fail miserably), she had pulled back the drapes a little and looked out in search of some explanation as to what was going on. Blearily taking in the familiar sights of her neighborhood, she had glimpsed the outline of a shadowy figure standing beneath the street lamp. The image had lasted only for a moment, until the lamp blinked off again, plunging her back into the inky blackness of a moonless night. Suddenly and unexpectedly wide-awake, and with the outline of a human form seemingly burned into her retina, she found herself holding her breath as she waited for the light to return.

At first, she’d thought (hoped, prayed, yearned) that it was Matt, maybe catching his breath momentarily and collecting his thoughts before knocking at her door, requesting to be let back both into her home and into her life. She lingered over the mental image for so long, willing it to be Matt (his smile, his stance, his scent), that the light blinked back off again before she could determine whether it actually was him or not.

Over the next 30 seconds she had played out every possible response to Matt; from ignoring him (quickly discounted) to testing his resolve/commitment in a doorway interrogation (well… her head said “yes”) to throwing open the door, surrendering herself into his arms and silencing any excuses, any new half-hearted promises or old familiar lies by finding his mouth with hers. At the thought of the latter, her body gave her the answer that she hadn’t really needed to look for and somewhere deep inside her (without lessening her excitement, more of calibrating her expectations), she started to prepare herself for the next inevitable disappointment that would surely come.

As the lamp blinked back on and the yellow/orange sodium light illuminated the street once more, she could see that the man who was looking up at her bedroom window was not Matt. Instead of the tall, athletic frame that she knew so well (that she still woke up looking for at night, aching to hold and in turn, be held by him), she saw a frail, elderly man, his body broken and stooped with age but also by more than that.

Her eyes had felt drawn to him that night. He seemed to say so much to her without saying or doing anything at all. He had done nothing to acknowledge that he could see her; he remained motionless, just continuing to stare up at her in a way that his unblinking eyes seemed to offer her a portal into his soul (and so by reflection, into her own). She had no idea how long she had watched him from her window as she had at last found peaceful sleep, right there in her window seat. When she awoke it was to a cold, gray dawn and he was gone. She wondered if it had all been a dream and by the end of a busy day, she’d pretty much convinced herself of that. That night, she had been hesitant to close the drapes because she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know whether her experience had been real or not.

When she did steel herself to look out of the window, her eyes found him in exactly the same place, standing in exactly the same way and looking up at her bedroom window as if he’d never been away. Again, her eyes connected with his and she found a gentle peace descending upon her which translated into another night of unbroken sleep (although this time, she managed to find her way back to her bed before surrendering to it).

This same pattern was repeated nightly and increasingly during the days too. It seemed to be that whenever she looked out, he was there. She started to wonder whether he ever left there, ever went home some place to feed himself, wash himself or to change his clothes. She wanted to go out and talk to him, maybe take him some warm soup and a sandwich but she felt that if she did, the spell might be broken and somehow, she didn’t really feel strong enough for that.

Earlier that morning, the mystery had become a mystery no more with a visit from another stranger, this time a young woman around her own age. First, she had tried to ignore the ringing of her doorbell and the knocking at her front door. She’d assumed that it was someone trying to sell something that she didn’t want to buy and hoped that they would give up and go away. When they didn’t, when they just kept knocking and ringing the bell over and over again, she found herself getting angry at the invasion of her privacy. She marched over to the door, first checking that the security chain was securely fastened and then lowered her head to peer through the peephole.

The young woman who stood in front of her door seemed to be distraught and almost on the verge of tears. Without pausing for thought, Carol found herself sliding back the security chain, opening the door wide and inviting the young woman into her home. She escorted her back into the living room, sat her down on the oversized sofa and went to the drinks cabinet and poured them both a stiff drink. As she crossed the room carrying the two tumblers, she realized that she’d just poured out almost half a bottle of the expensive cognac that Matt had always been so retentive about. “Oh well” she said to herself, “it’s not as if he’s going to be coming back to claim it any time in the near future, is it?”

Still no words had passed between them, and didn’t until they both had taken large gulps of their drinks and gasped in unison as it burned their mouths and throats. The young woman looked into her in eyes and started to speak. “It’s about my father”, she said, “that is why I am here”. Instantly the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place, this was the daughter of her “stranger”, come to explain the mystery. The daughter’s lips continued to move but she didn’t seem to be able to register what she was saying. She realized that she was scared of the truth changing something that somehow gave her a lot of comfort.

“I was just saying”, the young woman reiterated (realizing that her words were falling on temporarily deaf ears). “I was just saying that I hope that there won’t be any trouble”. She let her head fall for a moment as if the whole weight of the world was bearing down upon her shoulders. There was a long silence and then she lifted herself up again and resumed the eye contact. “He really doesn’t mean anything by it”, she continued. “He’s really not been himself since Mom died; a large part of him died along with her and of late, he’s really started getting confused about whether she’s still here or not”.

She paused and took in her surroundings and leaned in towards Carol, as if to share a confidence. “The reason he keeps coming back here is that this house, your home, is the house that they were married from”. “He has so many happy memories of times spent here and it is as if he is trying to get back to them”. She paused again, seemingly deliberating about whether to say any more. After a few moments, she seemed to reach a decision and picking up her pocketbook, took out a battered snapshot and handed it over with the words “there is this as well… a picture of my Mom from when they were first married”.

As Carol took the photograph from the young woman’s trembling fingers, she found herself looking at herself, or at least someone who could have passed for her sister, the obvious age of the print being the only clue otherwise. “Yes”, the daughter continued, “I see the strong resemblance too. That is why I was so shaky when you first opened the door. It sort of threw me for a while to be looking at a young version of my Mom. You even sound like her when you talk”.

There was another long silence while each of them took in the situation. Carol broke it by passing back the photograph with the words “your Mom was very beautiful; he must miss her very much”. “Yes, he does”, the daughter replied as she replaced it lovingly in her pocketbook. “This is so hard… deep down, I think he knows that you’re not her… that he can’t go back to those times, to this place… that life must go on”. “But then he gets confused and disoriented… and somehow he finds himself here, outside your house… and just for those moments, everything is ok again… everything is safe again”

Standing up as if to leave, the young woman swallowed and turned to look into Carol’s eyes once more. “I’m sorry, I truly am”, she said, “this won’t happen again… we’ll try and make sure that he doesn’t wander from the house and scare you any further”.

“Don’t apologize… please don’t… there’s nothing to be sorry for”, Carol heard herself saying as she walked the woman to the door. “He really didn’t scare me… I knew that he didn’t mean any harm… and don’t feel that you have to keep him away from here”. She paused and then continued “maybe you could bring him over one afternoon for an hour or so”? “He might enjoy reliving some of his memories of this house by taking a look around inside”. “Besides” she added finally “I feel that I have so much to thank him for”. With that, they shook hands and said their good-byes at the door. “Where is that writing paper?” Carol asked herself out loud. “I think that I’ve got a long letter that I need to write!”