I saw the blinds move this morning but I didn’t see who or what moved them. Whoever moved them was looking out the window; I could tell by the way they were pulled. I don’t know what it was looking at or looking for. No one was out there at the time.
I see strange things all the time. Most times they are from the corner of my eye. I would see something dart past me or a dark shadow moving across the floor. Sometimes it’s big, sometimes small, but when I turn to look, it’s always gone. I never actually see anything when I am looking for it.
But I did see those blinds move today. It stayed that way for a long time before they snapped back. At the time I was sitting on the sofa. The TV was on but I wasn’t watching it. I was thinking about how boring my life is, how nothing extraordinary ever happens to me.
I still feel that way after the incident because whoever was looking out those blinds were not interested in anything that was going on in the house. It was not interested in me. When it let go of the blinds, it went wherever it goes. It did not try to communicate with me.
Just like everyone else, it didn’t even know I existed. I might as well have been furniture.
So now, even after hours later, I wait for it to move the blinds again. I’m listening for odd noises. I turned down the volume on the TV. So far all I’ve been hearing are the usual household sounds: the humming of the refrigerator, the whirring of the ceiling fan, the air conditioner clicking on, then later shutting off. I hear cars entering and exiting the parking lot and people talking outside. I hear my own thoughts.
But I don’t hear what I want to hear. I don’t hear the footsteps of the stranger who opened the blinds. I wish I knew what or who it was looking for. Maybe I can help. It didn’t even seek to find out if I could.
No one ever notices me. I might as well be invisible.
But then Invisible won’t notice me either.
© D.L. Lunsford