From her balcony

She loves her balcony. She stands out there and watches the world. She knows its patterns by now. Everyday at nine, the girl with the curly brown hair comes running to the coffee shop. And a minute late she runs out with a steaming cup. How old is she? Is she married? Is her hair really brown? She wonders why the girl and the man with the black bag never talk. They are always standing next to each other in the bus line. She thinks it’s strange to see someone everyday and never share a word. The old man from the building on the other side of the street always shares a word. He leaves home at 10:30. He buys a paper in exchange for a joke. He buys a coffee and shares a laugh. He likes whistling as he walks down the street. He reminds her of Gramps. Gramps with a rounder belly. She thinks he is lonely. Maybe his children don’t call anymore, and his friends are all gone. Maybe he just needs to talk. The mailman comes in the afternoons. He is always on time. He looks so sad. Like the schoolgirl. She’s not sure why she noticed her in the first place. The street is full of kids when school is out. But this girl is different. She would look beautiful in a classic tragedy. Maybe she is in one. In the evening, a young man passes by her place. He stops below her balcony and buys flowers. She wonders if he likes buying them, or is it just a habit. She stands here everyday. One day someone will look up and see her. Maybe they will wave or smile.