A Tap on the Window

Forty

The man wonders who was at the door. He’s always curious when he hears a knock, or the doorbell upstairs. It’s been so long since he’s had a chance to talk to anyone. At least, anyone other than his wife and their son.

The man sits up in bed to listen. Maybe he’ll be able to hear voices. He doesn’t even have a radio or a TV down here. There haven’t been any unfamiliar voices in so long.

Well, other than that one visitor, just the other week. But he’d had so few words to say. Ran off in such a hurry. Scared to death, probably.

The man barely had time to ask for help. Or toss over his notebook. He figured if his visitor needed proof, the book would do it.

But all this time’s gone by, and no one’s come. Still, anytime he hears someone at the door, he wonders, and hopes.

In the meantime, he spends most of his time in bed. Sometimes he gets himself into the chair, wheels himself around. But where’s he going to go? What’s the point?

So he just stays in bed and reads magazines.

And sleeps.

And dreams.

About going out.