The breezy days were her favorite – quite truly. One could almost call it a love affair. Her thoughts were often swept far away by those sweet gusts. It was a breezy day when her eyes stumbled upon this strange room.
Tattered white curtains billowed in the windows upon its first and second floors. From the view from her kitchen, there were only windows, and each window adorned the ripped, eggshell fabric.
The moss-colored cottage was situated between Maple and Nutmeg and was tightly wrapped by a porch. The house had been converted into various offices. The sign in the parking lot listed that one occupant was a property management company. Another was a law office. The other office she wasn’t sure about. She kept meaning to look it up, but she never did.
For months, she watched the torn curtains blow in the soft San Diego breeze. She wondered why all of the windows were always open. She made up stories about what was up there.
Maybe it was simply an attic where boxes were stored, and the owners kept it cool by leaving the windows open.
Maybe the third floor was an art studio. Maybe the damaged drapes and fresh air were eerily inspirational for a painter or sketch artist.
Maybe the owners hadn’t visited the third floor in years, and years, and years.
Maybe someone was living on the third floor, quietly, alone.
The fabric waves to her most every day. It tempts her with strange thoughts. It prompts curious stories and ideas. It is the room of endless possibilities.
Jennifer A. Fifield
Image: Google Images