The Man in the Window

by Jon Cohen

By the end of a shift, answering the endless call lights that blinked on above the patients’ doors, Iris felt like she was one of those metal balls inside a pinball machine, bonging from light to light.

Bev shifted the Chevy into drive, which wasn’t easy, since they were all crammed in there tighter than a rosebud.

They were so intent, so excited and dismayed by his presence, they forgot to breathe. Louis could actually feel it, the oxygen around him that went unused, that entered his own lungs and made him dizzy with its richness.

What a desperate pair we must be, he thought, to exchange such rare and difficult presents: a smile and a moment at a window.

Here at my window balcony, he wondered, dreamy with unknown possibilities, am I Juliet to your Romeo? Sleeping Beauty to your Prince Charming? Who is it who has come to my rescue, to slay the fiery dragon coiled around my feet? Louis had a vision then of Iris in her nurse’s uniform transformed into a shining white knight bent on his rescue, charging up and down the streets of Waverly in search of him.

The less we have, the freer we are. Had I spent all these years living… normally… what chains would I have forged for myself by now?

Karen Russell’s St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves

Recomnended by the author

Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet

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