The Curtain Twitcher

At number 12 there was just the slightest movement behind the window. To the inexperienced eye there was nothing, but those in the know were aware that Lily was watching, keeping an eye on the street, as she had done for almost half a century.

What had been an annoyance for the longest time, was now part of the normality of the street. The neighbors expected Lily to be peeking from time to time from behind the heavy, purple velvet curtains, checking what was happening on the street and none were bothered by this habit that did not interfere with their lives in any way.

Today, there were lots of people in the street, watching worried how an ambulance was carrying away poor Mr. Thompson from number 18. Nobody really knew what happened. It was an accident for sure the murmur was humming, but the exact type of accident could not be pinned down. He was working in the garden though, everybody knew that.

Behind the curtain at number 12, old Mrs. Lily Harris was watching the outside spectacle saddened. When the ambulance had come, her first instinct was to call out for Ben in his workshop and let him know what was happening. But, then, she remembered that Ben was not there, and her joy of having something new to share dissipated.

This had been something that had brought them together in their fifty odd years of marriage. Lily watching the street and sharing with Ben the common and the not so common events she witnessed from behind the curtain. It all started, oh gosh, she cannot remember the year, but it was soon after they had moved in.

If she closes her eyes she can almost see themselves, so young and so beautiful! They had just had a fight! A stupid fight over where should the couch go. One of those temperamental, full blown fights, only young people can have over the stupidest things when marking their territory and stating their dominance.

They were not talking. Ben had withdrawn in what was to become his workshop and Lily was left with nothing to do, but wonder around the still empty house.

Then, she heard commotion in the street and too shy to go out she just peeked from behind the curtain. Two men were fighting while a woman was screaming scared for help for somebody to come and separate them.

Without thinking, Lily yelled for Ben who came running worried something had happened to her. They sat there, both of them entwined in the most intimate hug watching the show developing on the street. That was the moment Lily really felt they had become one unit, one item as opposed to the entire wide world.

Together they were one and outside the window, behind the curtain, the others were a show to be watched.

They had been brought together by the outside world, and sometimes it even helped them go through some very rough patches. For example, when Ben had his back problems and was bed ridden for two months, Lily had entertained him with recounts of the street events. Sometimes, Ben expressed his bewilderment of the liveliness of their street and all the drama that took place there. At times, he thought Lily was making things up for his sake, and maybe she was in the beginning, but then the things were really happening.

The street might even have saved their marriage once.

They had been married for about eighteen- twenty years when Ben had been charmed by this floozy in his office. He was determined to leave Lily and start a new life with that she-devil. But, during the night before he intended to leave, the house right in front theirs burst into flames, and the whole street came together to help, supporting each other and Lily and Ben were part of it, together, as a unit. For some reason or another the floozy decided to change jobs and Ben could not get a hold of her after that.

It was then, he understood his place was with his wife, and he spent the next few good years working to make it up to Lily for having contemplated the thought of leaving her.

They had been happy there for the longest time, but now, she was all alone and it felt like things did not really carry that much meaning anymore.

Not long after Mr. Thompson’s accident, the ambulance came at number 12 where the postman had noticed through the window that, old, Mrs. Lily Harris was standing there motionless.

It seems she had died while sat on a little stool behind the curtain. Nobody knew exactly when it happened or for how long she seemed to watch them, but had actually passed.

As there were no children the house went to a nephew long moved to Australia. The nephew hired a property management company to clear the house and sell it.

The clearing crew came one grey, wet Irish afternoon, in a hurry as they had another house to go to ASAP, as the supervisor of the group kept repeating. So no tender hands there, all was either for auction or for the skip.

Doing quick work, the team were packing boxes and filling bin bags, emotionless throwing stuff that had been treasured for a life time. Among pictures, trinkets and the regular stuff, they also found a strange collection of bits and bobs, carefully placed in a wooden box, each with dates written neatly next to them.

They had a laugh about the strange things people collect and threw it away as worthless. I mean, what would anyone want with an old gas valve or a bunch of screws. The dates were puzzling, the screws had a very recent date, but in the end, who cares, old people are not all there that is for sure, and the work needs to keep moving. So out the box went.

The house was sold for a pretty penny, the money spent by the nephew, and the story of the curtain twitcher ended without anyone knowing the impact she had for around fifty years on destinies, on a quiet street, in a small town, somewhere in the heart of Ireland.