Views from New Jersey Avenue

Emilia had never met John’s girlfriend, nor seen pictures or even heard her name. He had only brought her up when she pressed him on the topic, once when discussing zodiac signs in the staff room and most recently on the night that he had kissed Emilia in the Chinatown bar. Now that she found herself in his bed, she couldn’t help but question the woman’s identity.

It was one thing to compare oneself to the women on the magazine covers or walking down the street, but Emilia was now trying to compare herself to a woman who was nothing. And being nothing ultimately made her anything and everything. Maybe her name was Audrey or Naomi. John looks like he would fuck an Audrey or be fucked by a Naomi. She was probably blonde. And tall. And she shaved her legs everyday, called her mother twice a week, never failed to give a great birthday gift and likely had no clue that her boyfriend cheated on her. While these possibilities ran through Emilia’s head, there was fortunately one thing she knew for certain: Miss No Name was too good for John. But being too good for someone means little these days. If anything, it’s a curse. Bad men are like magnets for good women. Emilia had refuted it for the longest time but now believed it wholly. She is hardly a good person yet finds it impossible to remove herself from the unbearable force that is John.

If a person doesn’t have a name or a face, do they even really exist? Emilia had a name and a face, yet she felt more like nothing than No Name did.

She leaned back, exhausted and heavy with thought. Her head hung carelessly off the edge of the bed, breezily swaying back and forth. She stared out the window, observing the upside-down night. Without her glasses the entire scene looked like an oil painting. The edges of the buildings and cars blurred. Across the road, a street light glowed dully. It radiated faint yellow that spread delicately over its surroundings and if she squinted a certain way, it looked like the moon. On the sidewalk a couple strolled hand-in-hand. She wondered where they were going and who they were. How long had they been together? A week, a month, a year? A lifetime perhaps? It’s funny how sometimes a minute of love and a decade of it could be indistinguishable. The couple stilled under the faux moon and embraced. She felt terribly happy for the strangers. Lately her life had been haunted by nothing other than loneliness, but it was moments like these that reminded her of the world’s pureness. Chances to be a voyeur of the subtly sensual and sweet moments that may await her one day kept her heart beating.

Emilia had become so caught up in the sight of the living painting that she forgot she was having sex. John had also noticed this, her usual small whines had ceased. He grabbed her legs and pulled her back fully onto the mattress. She was surprised at the sudden movement and worked quickly to return to reality. However, the sight of him reminded her that she was quite tired. She contemplated if any effort was worth it at all. John could sense the hesitation in her face; he could feel the distance between them growing despite being pressed against her.

“What were you looking at?” he asked, concerned. Emilia feigned a soft smile,

“Nothing, I was just enjoying the moment.”

She hated that she could not tell him the truth. Possibly it was something in his eyes or the lines on his face that made him look more frail. She thought he was likely too fragile for her harsh opinions. And anyway, a rude remark might make him dislike her and she was unsure if she could handle that. John grinned proudly at her statement,

“God, you are so pure.”

She hated when he used that word with her. For a moment he seemed convinced by her acting but for peace of mind and ego, he quickly got up and closed the curtains. He returned to the bed and motioned for her to come closer.

***

It had been an hour before John had finally released her. After a round of sex, she had been unable to sleep as he spooned her naked body tightly. Once he had drifted off and his subconscious reminded him that he did not truly need her closeness, he let her go and rolled over to face the wall. She laid still for a minute, unsure of what to do with herself.

Emilia slid quietly off the mattress, putting only her glasses on as she tiptoed to the window. She pulled back the navy curtains and stared intensely into the night. She could see the oil painting in much more detail now. The imitation moon still hung brilliantly but the couple was gone. Across the way, a brick apartment building stood solemnly, its side spotted here and there with bursts of light. The little squares illuminated the figures and features of the rooms. In one window near the top, a cat swished its tail and clawed at the blinds. In another, a woman stood in her kitchen, mindlessly stirring a cup of tea on the counter as she read from a book. Emilia was sad that she could not make out the title. She liked to think that it was the Bible or possibly a Didion novel. The window below the distracted reader burned spectacularly orange as a silhouetted couple flexed and stretched, practicing yoga in candlelight. Near the first floor a man stood in front of the pane; he too was staring intensely into the night. They locked eyes as he observed her nude frame. She did not avert her gaze or close the curtains. Two sheets of glass and a street stood between them. That separation along with the lack of the man’s identity made her feel at ease. She did not know his name or life, to her it felt as if he was not even real. She wondered if he too felt that way about her. Did he think that she had no other life or purpose outside of standing naked in the window? Did this assumption make the reality of her life more exciting or more depressing? She wasn’t sure. If she had walked over to him, explained that she was standing in the window without any clothes on not for him but because she was unable to sleep after having sex with an older, possibly taken man and that this predicament was probably all due to the fact that she was a hopelessly contradictory young woman who didn’t even love herself, what would he say? Would he close his curtains? Would he tell her to be quiet and go stand in the window again? Maybe he would ask if she could put her hair up or turn on a light so he could see her better.

She found it odd that this interaction was much simpler and an even more enjoyable experience than undressing in front of John or all the men that had come before, all the boys that had pulled at her dress or pants or bra, impatiently unwrapping her like a piece of candy. The stranger made her feel powerful. She had unwrapped herself. She wanted to be seen and he did see her. Sometimes she wanted to be seen with John and he would touch her and kiss her and fuck her, but he would never see her. Emilia’s highschool boyfriend had been able to see her but it had always seemed as if it pained him greatly to do so, and she hated that. The man in the window, though, held no expression. No pity, no lust. Just attention. Pure, intentionless attention. She waved softly to him. He softly waved back.

***

Emilia had been the first to leave the window. It broke her heart to go but she knew it would hurt more if he had left first. She closed the curtains and gathered her clothes off the cold wooden floor. Quietly she slipped back into her underwear and dress and coat. She could not find her socks in the darkness. It was cold outside and she knew she would want them but her desire to get home was more important than the lost wool pair.

Emilia slowly opened the door and turned to look at John. He slept soundly, a disinterested look plastered across his face. It was incredible how his face while asleep saw no change from the face he wore while awake. Perhaps it was because it had become frozen that way. Maybe he had experienced too many emotions at once and now he could express none. For a girl who felt everything, she thought that an enviable existence. Emilia closed the door gently behind her.

Once down the stairs and out the front door, she slid her bare feet into her boots. The air was freezing outside and she pulled her coat closer as the wind nipped at her skin. She was on the other side of the city and dawn was still a few hours away. It would be best to call a cab but she couldn’t stand to talk to another man tonight. She began the trek through the empty streets, shivering as she peered down the lifeless sidewalks and into the dark buildings. It wasn’t very safe for someone like her to be walking alone at such a time of night but she did not care. Anyone could have come up to her and, whether it be to mug her or ask for directions, she probably would have just given them all her things and laid down to cry.

Eventually she made it back to her apartment. Her body hurt and as sensation returned to her numbed toes she could begin to feel the heat of blisters. She tossed her coat and bag to the ground and kicked off her shoes. Emilia knocked faintly on her roommate's door.

“Christine?” Emi whispered. She heard movement within and slowly opened the door.

“Emi? What time is it?” Christine asked, blinking and confused as she sat up in her bed.

“Four.”

“I didn’t expect you back til the morning.”

Emilia shrugged and looked at her wounded feet,

“Yeah, I decided to come home early.”

Christine nodded and there was a pause in the conversation. Emilia looked around the room as Christine stared at her.

“Is everything okay?”

Christine continued to watch Emilia as she stared now at the ceiling, desperate to stop the tears that were gathering in her eyes.

“Do you see me?” Emilia said, quick and quite hushed. Christine didn’t hear what she had said.

“What?”

“Do you see me?” Emilia asked louder, finally looking at Christine.

“What do you mean? Like right now? I definitely see you standing in front of me right now. Is that what you mean?”

Emilia felt frustrated at this answer but then disappointed with herself. It was wrong of her to ask her roommate such things. It was wrong of her to place her emotional despair onto someone as pure as Christine.

“I don’t think I even know what I mean.”

Christine moved over, lifted the covers and patted the empty side. Emilia closed the door and crawled into the bed. The two girls laid down, facing each other in the darkness. Christine pulled the soft, white sheets over Emilia and whispered to her,

“I don’t know exactly what you mean, Emi. Though I think I see you in the way you make me feel. And you make me feel seen,” she smiled sweetly at Emilia’s tired face and continued,

“But, can you even see yourself?”