Writer, Voyeur

A chance meeting, I bumped into a friend today after raiding the Free Table. I had already come up with a scarred, partially complete and boardless Pretty Pretty Princesses game. Oh, the evil I can achieve with its plastic dawds and tawdry baubles. My friend, at the time of the bumping, was carrying two large briefcases, battered and unlocked. They looked heavy, and the contents threatened to spill out all over the place. The threats were never made good on. He had found them in a dumpster behind a Bell’s Outlet. In them was–a life. Someone’s life, a real estate agent’s who had been in the military, graduated from a University in Maine: the diploma was in there, photo negatives of rivers, an expired Vicodin prescription, veteran’s benefits paperwork, photocopies of packets depicting houses that had been on the market back in 1994, military patches, personal paperwork, the traces of a whole life. But only traces. A paper trail. The most recent document contained in either of the cases was from 1996, eleven years ago. Was it stolen? Dumped by the owner? An ex? Did he die, and the family threw everything in briefcases, to toss it all out in one go? There’s a story in there. I’ve been privy to a person’s secrets, and pehaps I shouldn’t have looked. Perhaps I should track down the owner. Perhaps I should write more. Like an unfamiliar puzzle box, I don’t know the next sequence of twists and shifts to unlock the mystery. Is it mine to unlock?

One thought on “Writer, Voyeur”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s