The sky slowly begins to dim as the orange and yellow of the setting sun disperses amongst the clouds. Light fades behind Le Chateau du Vincennes and the glow now emits from the homes across the street. The apartment’s red and white brick lay perfectly with a European air. Black steel balconies are lined with traces of life: a skateboard rests against the wall, bright red flowers in a cracked flower pot, an empty exercise bike waiting to be ridden.

I lean against my kitchen counter watching as the Parisians below rush to get home before the curfew. Empty buses pass on the tight streets, bakeries sell the last of their baguettes for the day, and pull down the gates. No honking horns, no screaming children, no laughter from the cafe on the corner. Confinement leaves the night streets barren.

A warm glow catches my eye as the apartments across the way come alive. A woman in a knitted sweater and wind-swept grey hair suds a pot at the kitchen sink. Her thick arms scrub at old, stubborn food. In the balcony with the bright red perennials, a man passes in the doorway like smoke in the wind. When I start to wonder if I’d seen him at all, he returns with a woman in hand. They embrace and disappear once more.

I’ve never met any of my neighbors. Not the ones across the street, nor in the building in which I reside. If I’d passed them on the street, I wouldn’t know them from a bar of soap. Sometimes I hear a distant laugh through the wall or the clanging of silverware. That’s my only way of knowing that others do indeed exist here.

Another light switches on across the street. A young boy around the age of ten dashes into the large room. His bare legs poke out like sticks beneath his underwear. He swings a foam sword, vigorously slaying the invisible giants around him. He dips low and kicks his leg out, no doubt toppling the giant. He stabs the ground and looks over his shoulder as his enemies again surround him. He catches his breath then thrashes his sword. Down go two in one swipe. He jumps and kicks his legs into the air, down goes another. They’re running now; even a gigantic beast knows when it’s beaten. He drops his sword and chases them out of view.

I’ve been asked, “Don’t you get lonely living in France alone?” I suppose I used to. Last year I spent the Christmas holiday on my own. But now, almost a year later, I don’t know if I really consider myself alone. Although I do not talk to these people, I still get to experience a very small portion of their lives with them. I get to appreciate their ordinary moments. The moments’ nobody puts on social media. The moments we all have, doing the trivial things we all do but forget as soon as they’ve passed. In a time when no one can physically come together, I feel that these moments, whether they recognize my presence or not, serve to connect us. There is always a way to connect if you want to.

The door opens at the balcony with the exercise bike. A man in his late twenties mounts the bike. The wind blows into his home, sending the curtains over his head. I’ve seen him before; about once a week he gets on as the sun sets. His pedaling increases as he notices me watching from my kitchen window. I look away like I had never been looking at all. I keep my head turned from him but I glance over with my eyes. He’s facing down, but lifts his head and turns toward me. Our eyes meet. Suddenly, this connection has become too real. Too personal.

I turn to glimpse further down the street. I wonder what they see from their balconies. All the life going on around them, all the things I can see but they can’t; I know their neighbors better than they do. I close the drapes to my small studio and think to myself, “what do they see when they look over at me?”

With All the Love I Am

Tori F Baby

#livehappii