Stolen Moments Stories 02
The single girl
Yasmine Chatila shares another diary extract from her
Upper West Side - Friday 4:30 pm
I have set up the equipment next to the bed by the window. This is
a new location with a courtyard view, Hitchcock would be jealous. I
have no idea what the fall of night will reveal but I am feeling
hopeful. I wonder if the uptown people will be more tame than the
Chelsea characters from last month's entry.
I am starting to see some movement across the way, its too soon to
make out whats going on but I'm pretty sure I will have some
There is a girl in her late twenties pacing around her apartment.
She is cloaked in black with a somber cotton skirt and top. She
stared into her fridge for five minutes, I can see lots of oranges,
yoghurt and a carton of half and half.
Black branches silouhetted against the grayish blue walls, the
apartment is steeped in an ominous atmosphere. A little green
towel hangs lopsided on her cabinet as she rummages through the
garbage. What is she looking for?
She is sitting on her sofa, her hair pulled back in a greasy
ponytail. She has no makeup on, her black cat is sitting on a
pillow behind her head. She is eating something, her plate is
filled to the brim, inconsistent with the scarcity of there fridge
and her scrawny body. Her face is glowing blue, it's the light from
her tv set.
A man is sitting on his sofa in the apartment directly below
her, he is also watching tv. He is chain smoking and is
playing with his nipple, I wonder if it is a horny thing or some
kind of Oedipal fixation? Would they would find
comfort in knowing that they are only a few meters apart,
separated by a thin floor and doing the same thing?
She turned the lights on in her bedroom. There is a tray on the
unmade bed, it has three orange prescription bottles on it, I can't
read the labels.
Saturday 6:00 pm
Night two, she has a guest over, he is nicely dressed with a
pressed blue shirt on. While she has her back turned to him fixing
his drink he picks his nose vigorously, he rubs his beard when she
turns around with his whiskey on the rocks. They are talking, she
is animated and her face looks tense, she is gesticulating wildly,
I think she is trying to impress him. He doesn't seem impressed or
vaguely interested. I wish I could hear them.
The man has left, she changed into the black outfit from the night
before. She keeps going around in circles between her bedroom and
her living room, tapping the sofa, the wall, the table as she
passes them over and over again. I think she might be mentally ill,
I wonder if that is what the pills are for? I feel sick to my
stomach, I wish I could hold her in my arms and calm her down.
She just stopped turning, now she is standing barefoot in her
living room. Her fingers are tense and look like claws.
She walks into her bedroom and takes all her clothes off except
for her floral plum and cream panties. God she is so thin. She is
in plain view and right next to her window as she sits in bed with
her computer. Her tray of pills next to her remains
undisturbed, maybe she should take a few.
Still naked in front of the window, all of her neighbors on this
side of the courtyard must have seen her by now. I think she must
be lonely, it doesn't feel like a sexual thing.
Yasmine Chatila (Foam Magazine #22/Peeping)