I wake up. My eyes are fogged and blurry making it hard to search around the room for my glasses. Everything shifts and moves nothing retains any specific shape.
“Where am I?”
I’m sitting up, drool dripping down my lips connected to my local college sweatshirt. I fell asleep at my desk again. Classy.
My hands dance along my desk and knock over the empty bottle of Jack.
Finally I feel something familiar; small, thin framed. I slide my glasses onto my face and everything comes back into focus. The nameless nothings all become real. My floor covered in old clothes, sneakers and jerseys. My desk covered in pills, half-full glasses, plates with half eaten food and my monitors. I grab my phone and check the time.
“11:30 Christ.”
Been asleep for 12 hours. Some watcher I turned out to be. The silver hue of my monitors lights the room. I push my bare feet hard on the ground and my wheeled chair takes off as I make my runs.
30 monitors. 1 for each person. 30 people whose lives are in my hands chosen at random by the men who chose things and every six months these 30 stop being under my watchful eye and another random set is sent into my home.
Mr. Yomachi who works out naked in his living room.
Mrs. Kensington is still reading that Steven King Book.
Charlie Sanders always checks his phone when his wife leaves the room.
None of these people are dangerous; none of them terrorists, none of these people want to blow up Central Holdings. But somewhere out there, is someone who wants to. And they don’t because they’re afraid I’m watching them right now. All day, everyday.
Senior Castanada is about to drink from the gallon of milk that his wife told him to throw out two weeks ago.
Michelle is combing her hair, 22 times, 23 times, 24 times.
Robert reads to his son.
This is my life. Watching you live yours. This is must be how St. Peter feels.
While I watch Frank Gorbsy try to find something good on TV I reach down and pick up the 3 days old Chinese Food box off my floor and start digging in. This is when I start getting sad. Watching someone watch, it’s like setting two mirrors up to face each other and watching the reflections go on for infinity. Then I think about the poor schmuck who has to watch me. The thought sends chills down my back for a second. I remind myself I make good money for this job. My large government paycheck keeps the chills at bay, I could live in a nice condo in the zero sector if it wasn’t for the crushing guilt.
I throw the Chinese food towards at the bin. It bounces off the edge and lands on the floor sending shrimp fried rice all over my floor, the bugs will be here soon. I roll myself back to my desk.
“Save the best for last”
Truth is I know I’m not a good watcher. Truth is these other people get no more than 30 seconds each. The truth is that for the last two years I’ve been watching only one person. You.
Your life plays out on the double monitor on my desk. I know every inch of your apartment from your large couch to your collection of Asian dolls.
If the big men upstairs found out I was using my technical knowledge to keep you around they’d have me sent to containment faster than you can unwrap a Now&Later.
I know it’s wrong to call it love but…no other word really comes into my head at the moment. I hit the ENTER button on my keyboard to scroll through the cameras trying to find you in your apartment. You might be out right now walking your dog. But you’ll be back soon. You’ll go into the fridge and grab a coke and then sit and watch a movie.
I know it’s wrong to call it meant to be but what else could it be. I know what you like, I know every aspect of your body, your hair, your legs, your pale skin, the bruises on your back from when you were hit by that car 3 weeks ago. I know how your body moves when you dance, I know what TV shows you like, I know what makes you laugh and how you sound when you cry. I know when you’re having a real orgasm and when you’re faking it.
I know I can’t call it dating but what else could it be.
I watch as your door opens and you and Atticus; your tiny pug come back inside. Quickly you change into your bikini top and you lie across your couch and flip through the channels. Before I know it my fingers are lightly brushing your hair. If it wasn’t for this damn screen we’d both be in heaven right now. If it wasn’t for this distance you’d be in my arms right now.
“If only you knew.”
You yawn and get up to go to bed. Your lights turn off and my cameras turn to Night Vision. I grab my blanket and pull it over me and tuck myself in. You do the same.
You say good night to Atticus who snuggles up by your feet.
“Good-Night Jenny” I say.
To Be Continued?
1 comment:
Sounds like the beginning of a good book to me.....
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