FOOTFALLS

FOOTFALLS

it is 10:00 on a sunday morning. i can hear my neighbor above me walking around her apartment in her bare feet. her steps are more forceful than morning's first, tentative, reluctant steps. she's been up awhile, thinking of and preparing for the day's activities.

i think that my neighbor is young and beautiful. there is one such woman in my building and i was in an elevator, diffused with her perfume, with her one time and when i got off on my floor she continued riding it up. but i am on the 4th floor of an 8-story building. i remember my high school french teacher imagining the beautiful woman behind the beautiful voice on the radio and the woman turning out to be kate smith.

so i prefer my imagination.

i imagine my neighbor still wearing her night clothes, panties and a little tee shirt. women are so wonderful. so charming, so fascinating. the most charming and fascinating of them are those that have little awareness of the effect on men of their unselfconscious actions.

were i able to observe my neighbor now, i would be aroused by the flesh and the undress but also, really, my soul would be touched and my curiosity enlivened by her grace, her lack of self-awareness, her charm--in all, by the allure and mystery of her femininity.

i hear different footfalls from my neighbor on saturday nights. her soft bare-foot step is transformed into the familiar click-clack of high heels. i hear the outer metal screen security door on her apartment shutting behind her and i hear her footfalls no more.


-benjamin harris