There is much to be said for the complex function proffered by a pane of glass. With it we make doors and windows that offer a semblance of security, creating a barrier which we can physically stand behind yet still see through. We use it as a shield and shelter against the elements. But there is no secrecy; there is no hiding. The fragility of this transparent protection is as delicate as the material it’s made of. In an instant, the rough edges of a well-aimed rock can literally shatter both. Yet we continue to place our faith in it, allowing it to span the walls of our houses, our storefronts, every side of our cars. And because of that, sometimes the best-kept secrets are the ones hidden in plain view.
I climbed over the dust-covered sill and through the window, which was held open by a dirty rag tied to its rusted handle. I was standing out on the third floor balcony, leaning against the metal railing that was just slightly too low to be of any good in case of emergency. Even past 10.00PM, closing in on 11.00, the streets below were active with people who were either sure of their destinations or were eager to find one. To my left, the bright lights of a bustling intersection denoted the corner of a ritzy shopping center, populated by men dressed in thousand dollar suits. To my right, the trash filled sidewalk was home to many who dressed in the same tattered clothes every day, probably picked up from a Salvation Army.
Across the street, bold letters written on the darkened windows of a meat market and deli suggested a busy store had finally turned in for the evening. Similar letters associated the establishment with an adjacent restaurant. From my perch, the only remotely suspicious activity was the handful of panhandlers who seemed to have moved in to the side alley. But if you paused long enough to glance inside the store, maybe even press your forehead against the glass for a better look, you would see rows and rows of empty shelves. You would realize that only a third of the store carried merchandise, the remainder of the space was there just for the sake of being there. There was no restaurant, there was no deli. But there were plenty of customers anyway. The kind that knowingly made their way to the back of the store, ready to make a costly purchase.
In the next moment a taxi pulled up to the spa and massage parlor next door. The unconcerned driver climbed out along with his passenger to help her pull luggage out of the trunk. The nervous woman stood cautiously in front of the glass doors of the shop, trailing an overnight carryon. She waited a couple moments before an unseen figure let her in and she slipped quickly inside, hoping to avoid peering eyes. All night, expensive-looking men driving up in their expensive-looking cars would surreptitiously park on my side of the street only to duck under the pink awning and dodge in to the massage parlor. As if parking further away would throw anyone off to his purpose of being there. As if that shop really did offer spa treatments and massage therapy. But passing by those clear glass doors, you would never really suspect otherwise.
Then came the commotion at the busy intersection up the right side of the street. A tall black man who would probably look even taller if he didn’t hunch over was casually strolling before a surge of cars still racing through their green light. His tired face matched his well-worn outfit, from the stocking knit cap that used to be red to the shoddy brown shoes that never fit. Pretending to be oblivious to the screeching and honking surrounding him, he defiantly pushed along his red shopping cart full of recyclables and personal belongings. Unfortunately, one car in particular came just a moment too close to hitting him. In an over-dramatic effort he shoved his cart the rest of the distance to the other side of the street, then marched very slowly to the driver’s window. Knowing he was legally in the right but lacking the courage to believe it, the small Indian driver crouched wide-eyed behind the wheel. He opted to watch the flying spit place itself all over the window, knowing it was the only barrier between himself and the irate man who just wasn’t quite all there. Yet for the homeless individual, attacking the timid driver was probably the only opportunity in life he had discovered in which he could exert power over another person. Every other situation in his life, people told him what to do. He jumped at any chance he could to affirm his own worth, expressing himself as the bellowing man who could clearly witness the effect of his words.
I didn’t watch long enough to find out who won. It is precisely those sorts of face-offs where everyone has lost already so betting on the result is pointless. Instead I stepped back over the wooden sill and allowed the window to slowly creak shut behind me.