the black lullaby

This evening on my way home from work I realized that even though my driver looks like a bit of a thug, he couldn’t threaten the traffic lights to change color fast enough. So while we were stuck there at the mercy of a red light, I happen to look around and in doing so I notticed an apartment complex. The more I looked at them the more my eyes would pick up on the details. I made my mind stop when I started thinking about the windows. I would have thought further had the green light not made an unexpectedly early appearence. So we moved on, but as we did, I continued to look at the other windows around me and the more I looked the more I wanted to know… what goes on behind each and every one of those windows? What happens when the sound of glass muffles the voices of those inside? What happens when the latch is on and the wind isn’t allowed in for lunch? What happens?

Were there husbands and wives in there who had promised to be each others’ strength and now longed for each others’ strength because they had none? Were they tired of trying to make their marriages work because they had run out of things to improvise with? Did they truly love each other and was their marriage just a decent cover up for the ugly lives they were living?

Were there secrets hidden within the ears of walls that everyone would pass by but no one would listen to? Were there double lives being lived? Was someone crying over deception and the other crying over guilt?

Had loved ones been lost or had they been stolen? Were children becoming harder to live without and were parents saying all the wrong things?

What the fuck was going on?

My mind was racing through various situations. I was piecing together faces and lives and tears and laughs and so many other things, trying to form a story of what was really going on behind those windows and why they were closed.

I imagined the woman who was reduced to loving someone secretly because any other way would be disastrous.

I imagined the man who was trying to pick up the remnants of his life and move on but was being held back by his past.

I imagined the woman whose life was perfect, because only she could point out the imperfections in it.

I imagined the mother who was constantly hurt by her children’s behavior but forgave them anyway, because they were hers.

I imagined the friend who was leaving with a heavy heart and didn’t want to say goodbye because he knew he was leaving for the wrong reasons.

I imagined the girl who was questioning her decision because she knew it was well thought of, but not with her heart.

I imagined the boy who had changed so much that every thing he did now made others think he was someone else.

It was them. They were the ones behind those windows. They were the ones with the secrets and they were the ones with the lives that lead into pits of misery. They were the ones who were looking at the skies in hopes of redemption from their despair. And then I realized… Shit! They’re looking at us from in there. They’re looking at us and thinking… What could be going on in the lives of that man in the car? Is he happy? Is he sad? Is he a good father? Is he living a life of lies?

What’s his story?

Everyone wants to know. Some actually do. But no one ever really does.