The Watched

A few years ago, I watched a documentary about a young girl in Germany who was abducted by a deranged man and held captive in his basement for years. I can’t recall the circumstances, but she eventually escaped or was rescued. She described her hellish time in her suburban prison, recalling how she was able to see out of a barred basement window, catching daily glimpses of people going about their lives, walking their dogs, arguing with traffic policemen, lifting their faces to the warming sun or huddling in their heavy winter coats against the wind. The young woman recalled how desperate she was to be able to call out to these people, to summon help from those who were unaware of her presence.

And since viewing this program, I find myself often thinking about it on the rare occasions when I am in an urban area. Out of nowhere, I will catch myself looking at a barely-seen window, or a slightly-parted curtain, and I wonder if there is someone behind that barrier, someone looking frantically at my face, praying that I will see or sense them, pleading with the heavens to finally send help in the form of this older man who is looking over in their direction.

Even in the more rural areas, I tend to look at windows in homes and wonder if someone is behind the panes, behind the curtains, looking out for something to distract themselves from the chronic pain and misery of being bed-bound, of suffering silently while the world goes on about its business outside, while they are shackled to pill bottles and IV drips and bed adjustments and ice chips in a cup and the ticking of the clock and the slow parade of the sunlight across the quilt covering their legs. Or the misery of the trickle of time while sitting in the chair and the emptiness settling in after yet one more day of no phone call, no visit, no loved voice calling out to them.

It’s an odd feeling, the thought of being watched by someone unseen who so badly wants you to see them, to notice them, to come, in some fashion, to their assistance. And this could be happening at any time, unless one is isolated away from other people entirely. Think of this as you go through the day’s hours. Is someone carefully marking your approach, screaming inside for you to look up, to notice?

Or is someone who has lived and passed on to the next life watching you, concerned over you, watching your actions and wishing they could intercede, but unable to do so and finally consigned to merely observing you, a living soul they know and love?

Look around you right now. What do you see? What do you not see?

~ S.K. Orr