Jun 8, 2010

rerun rear window


I have long wondered about my neighbors to the rear. The kitchen is all of twenty feet from my head now. I can see directly into the bathroom (which has never been used from my experience) and the kitchen, which often is, always at odd hours.
Occasionally I've seen the resident. He always seems to forget to close the microwave. It annoys me. I want to reach over and shut it.
Yes, I'm a sick man, but then you know this already.

"Voyeur" is such an ugly word, isn't it? I mean just because it's French and all, doesn't make it any better.
I'm just curious about people, that's all. Is that so wrong?
(Don't answer)

Anyway, if you don't want people looking in, get some freaking curtains, people!
Hell, I have two separate sets of blinds, curtains and brown paper on my windows.

Besides, I don't look often, only every now and then, and it's even less frequently that I ever see anyone there anyway.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...

Despite this, I've seen enough of the occupants to construct a fantasy life for them. Not that this is that special. I can do this for someone I'm behind in the grocery checkout line.

One half of the couple is an early twenty-something blond boy. He's of medium height and of a slightly slender wrestler's build. The other is a taller, dark-haired boy of about the same age, but thinner.

The blond I see fairly often. The brunet not so much. I imagine them to be waiters at one of the nicer restaurants. That would explain the odd hours. I've long speculated that they are gay.

There are clues: the full range of organic Australian hair products on the bathroom window sill, the well equipped and decorated kitchen, the curtains.

But this is just circumstantial evidence, I know.

Tonight, out of boredom, I peek through the double set of blinds and catch sight of them cooking. The two of them are together in the kitchen. The window is open in fact, letting out the heat. The blond is cooking. The brunet is having a drink.

Of course I watch.

The brunet downs another swallow of what seems like a margarita. (God, I'd love a margarita right about now, in fact). He says something animatedly. The blond is stirring a pot. Then the brunet clutches at his t-shirt, as if grabbing imaginary pearls.

Ding ding ding.

A few minutes later the blond (in a sleeveless shirt, by the way...ding) steps away from the pot for a drink of his own, and the two of them share a very quick hug.
Ding Ding Ding DONG.
Game over.

I think that question is pretty well settled now...and somehow suddenly, I have less interest now in spying.

I go back to eating my sad little drive-through hamburger alone.

Where's Grace Kelly when you need her? Or, hell, Thelma Ritter?

16 comments:

ayem8y said...

I told you this before, You are Thelma Ritter!

jason said...

I know. I know.

ricola said...

One doesn't grab one's pearls so much as clutch them.

Fabulastic said...

Oh Jason... just find a really dirty gay bar with a dark room.

It is better to feel bored from a night out and some senseless anonymous sex than for petit bourgeois voyeurism...

savannah said...

damn, sugar, my life is so damn boring compared to y'alls! i just have grill envy as i watch my neighbors fire up the bbq! xoxoxox

Kim Hambric said...

My neighbors on one side just drink beer and vomit. The country clubbers on the other side prance about (heterosexually) in their loafers and pumps, one no doubt clutching her pearls.

Good God, I suppose they could all be watching ME.

Sorry your experience was a bit of a let down in the end. Keep an eye out. They just might get out a shovel and start digging at night.

Frontier Psychiatrist said...

"Or, hell, Thelma Ritter," exactly.

And even if the spying isn't as fun, isn't it nice to know you were right? I love that stuff--game over, winner: you.

Michael Rivers said...

I just rewatched Rear Window a few weeks ago. Such a great movie. My windows look out onto my backyard with lots of trees. Maybe that is good thing. :-)

MJ said...

I caught my across-the-street neighbour spying on me (a few times) with binoculars so I borrowed a pair of binoculars and looked right back AT him.

He quickly turned out the lights and drew the curtain.

Never saw him at the window again.

madtexter (corey james) said...

The Australian hair products are a dead giveaway...guilty as charged myself. And our kitchen is fully equipped and fantastic window treatments.

Wait a minute...you don't live next to me, do you? Phew! That can't be possible - the neighbors are at least 100 feet away.

But then again, I do have a neighbor who walks around naked in his apartment across the street and I have no trouble seeing him. (Not because I'm staring, of course).

Jill said...

We are all voyeurs and sleeveless shirts should be banned...just go shirtless!

Lucia said...

go introduce your self, stop being lonely voyeur boy!
I know easier said then done!

Margaret said...

Pull up your shades, and get invited over, dearie! I imagine those brown paper bags are dripping with deep fat fried oil by now, anyway, and a true fire hazard.

ricola said...

yeah, what is the deal with the brown paper?

govtdrone said...

Yeah, what is the deal with the brown paper? What are you doing in there that you need all that cover? Hmmm??

jason said...

I wish it were that interesting.
Alas, the brown paper is only to keep out the light and heat....otherwise it's too hot and bright in here. It's almost as classy as tin foil, right?