HIM

HIM – By Terence Jinadu

His bedroom had a window that opened up into the sky. He slept directly beneath that window, always with the curtains up. The night sky gave him peace and being hit by the first rays of sunlight every morning helped him get up in time for his morning run.

I know because I watched – a little too much to be considered normal, a little too intently to be discarded as just crazy. I watched from the top floor of my one storey flat, at the window behind my tiny dining table – usually with a cup of coffee in hand. I’d peer down through his bedroom window, scrutinizing every expression, following every turn. It wasn’t so hard – he was usually very still.

I’d watch him till the security man turned off the power generator at twelve midnight – when the whole neighborhood went dark and there was nothing more to watch. I watched him rise every morning – but then he’d pull down the curtains. He would jog past my house in his usual grey hoodie and sports shorts and when he came running past on his way back, I’d be jogging towards him from the opposite direction. That split second when we directly faced each other was my opportunity to carefully analyze his likeness, at this same moment he’d nod slightly towards me – an acknowledgment that he recognized me as his neighbor – we never spoke.

Storried Him

I watched him drive his son to boarding school when the holidays were over. He drove his wife to work every other morning. My ungodly monitoring of this man should not be attributed to average emotions like love or infatuation; it was something beyond the physical. It was a deep reverence for his existence. It was based on my idolization of his being, because through all my time watching, deciphering his thoughts and emotions. I resolved that he was perfect – he was God.

There were times I fantasized about being with him in a physical way – I was only human after all – these were times when I had let my desires as a woman cloud the spiritual. I prayed to him for forgiveness afterward. He spoke to me eventually – I remember thinking of how his voice advertised his deity. We sat together, out by the stairs leading to my door and he spoke to me. It was a long talk and it felt good – like the word of God. His wife was away so we saw a lot of each other and in truth, I did not see it going beyond the long talks on the stairs but it did – I slept with him.

He had an aura that put him above such petty things – or so I thought. I cried that night. I was pained – my god had sinned, he cheated on his wife, something so human. He was flawed – not God. Perhaps he had always been a man – had never intended to be anything more. I think now that it was always me. I based my religious obsession with him on my assumptions – thoughts that I made his because I expected nothing less. My father always said “never assume. It brings out the ass in you and me.” Maybe I should pray to him for forgiveness.

I sat at my tiny dining table. Cup of coffee in hand and I resolved that I would end it. I would text him and leave the neighborhood. But I didn’t – I didn’t text or leave and when he came around to my flat again the next evening, I slept with him.

 

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HIM

By Terence Jinadu

His bedroom had a window that opened up into the sky. He slept directly beneath that window, always with the curtains up. The night sky gave him peace and being hit by the first rays of sunlight every morning helped him get up in time for his morning run.

I know because I watched – a little too much to be

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