The Summer Window

An old man is slowly dying of routine living when he begins life anew by looking out his window at night.

      The old man did as he always did.  He ate his usual breakfast of oatmeal and one boiled egg, washed the dishes, watered the plants, changed into his daytime clothes then sat in his lounge chair and listened to classical music.  Noon came and he did what he always did at noon--fixed a cheese sandwich and some chicken soup.  Then it was reading time, then movie time, then supper which happened to be the time of rotation for chicken fettuccini alfredo, a meal he remembered liking many years ago but failed to make any notable impression on him this evening, nor had made any impression in some time.  Another movie, per repertoire.  A snack of one small bowl of Mayan chocolate ice cream.  And then finally prepping the house for sleep by opening the dining room window to cool off the house for the night and the coming day.  He vaguely noted to himself that he would be doing all this again and again.  But, hey, it was orderly, familiar and safe.  He was an old man living a well rehearsed life, unlike the roller coaster he had lived when he was just out of college and did not know any better.

      The old man went to bed.

       "Go to your summer window!" commanded to being. 

       He woke up with a start.

       The being was different-looking, he knew, but he could not remember what it looked like.

      "Go to your summer window!" 

       He slowly got out of bed, almost against his will, but he was curious. He entered his living room and looked out his window.

       The scent of freshly cut grass wafted toward him.  Above, the sky was smeared with a billion stars that roared in white light.  The moon was full and bright and low and reflected off a billion dew drops on the back lawn--a kind of soft echo of the starry sky.  It was a scene of  latent, raw power.  He was transfixed.

      After some time his legs began to ache, and he went back to bed.

      The next morning he failed to make breakfast, nor did he water the plants or listen to music or watch a movie.

      He kept thinking of the beauty of the previous night and kept pondering the dream--was it somehow real in some way?  Had it tricked him into seeing in a new way?

      Night came.  He looked out his window but there was no magic to it like there had been the night before.

     He went to bed.  

     "Go to your summer window!"

     The old man crawled out of bed and entered his living room.  There in the window was red nebula--shimmers of stars and dust.  The old man felt as though he was departing on an immense journey.

     The next night he was once again awakened by the command to go to his summer window.  This time he looked on a scene of a dark blue world lit all around by five moons.  He felt as though something of great portent was about to happen.

    The next night it was the being.  A cloaked figure with six limbs and turquoise eyes looked back at him from under an immense furrowed tree.  The tree's branches were hung with beard moss that glowed silver in the moonlight.  

    The being gestured in some type of sign language that the old man seemed to make sense of...

    "...have been trying to help you see life anew.  This is my last guidance."

    "But you cannot stop," cried the old man.  "My life is so boring without the visions."

    "You can do it yourself," the being signed with its limbs and hands.  "Try to notice the beauty in the ordinary--be sensitive.  I have to go now.  Goodbye."

    And then the old man was looking at his backyard at night.  For a brief second he struggled to see the beauty of the night at that moment but all he saw was darkness and the outlines of nearby houses.  He grew tired and stumbled back to his bed.

    For the next week the old man did hardly anything.  The dishes piled up as well as his laundry.  He knew he could not see the way the being suggested.  He needed help.  Then one evening his front doorbell rang.   He shuffled to the door and opened it.

    "Hi, my name is Moreen and I'm selling girl scout cookies."  The girl was only about nine or ten years old but she had the most beautiful turquoise eyes--just like the being's eyes.  He wanted to please her so he pulled out five dollars and bought some lemon cookies.  After closing the door, he went to the summer window and looked out on the slanting yellow rays of the setting sun.  He noticed other girls selling their cookies around the neighborhood and the scene induced in him a kind of reverence for living world, a world with beautiful stars, moon, creatures and plants, a world he was a part of.  The old man changed into some old comfortable sweats and went for a walk. 

Reviews

[Stanley R. Teater]

I enjoyed this story very much. In many ways the old man resembles the old fool who looks back at me in the morning when I'm shaving. He enjoyed his routine and I can relate to that. I'm on my third career - a teacher. I have summer's off so you'd think I'd spend all that extra time typing away at some story or other. I don't. I miss the routine of my work life. I find myself getting depressed and accomplishing little. Gotta go now. I'm putting on comfortable clothes and going for a walk. Thanks so much for your story.