To New York in pandemic

I live in a fourth-floor walk-up apartment, on a sausage rail road with windows on both sides. I sit by my window all day, on a chair and desk I found abandoned on the street, working from home, thinking, and dreaming from home. Doubting and believing from home. I see the sun, the wind, the rain, and the clouds dancing all day and night. The bright moon visits sometimes.

And with summer, the roofs have come to life. I see pale bodies sunbathing with blankets over irregular and crooked roofs that were not made to hang out. But in this city, it’s a space waiting to be conquered.

I see some people on balconies, posing for Zoom meetings until laptops run out of battery. I saw punctual New Yorkers clap with hands and pans at 7 pm sharp, thanking all those who took care of others. But their kindness has become rage with the protests. No one claps anymore; now they scream and march with anger, but with the same passion.

I see a roof garden that is actually a garden, with more plants than the gray street. Different roommates come to take care of it, with hats and patience, until it’s too hot to breathe. I see people like me, looking out the window because there’s no rooftop or balcony, but we may save a bit on rent.

A neighbor’s kids play with water and laugh on their artificial grass roof deck, the only kids I can spot so far. Too close to the party patios and rooftops, which laugh, sing, and dance at night. Maybe that’s why there are not many kids around here.

I’ve seen two pigeons in their daily courtship ritual. And when the female finally agrees, I look away because even nature needs some privacy.

When night comes, silence and darkness take over, but I’m still here with some other night owls and their yellow lamps that slowly fade.

All those neighbors I will never meet, I’ll never talk to, and I can’t even see their faces are the real life of the static buildings landscape. Sometimes I get lost for hours in my other window: the computer screen. But something happens outside and brings me back.

Dear neighbor, I can see you from this window up here. You are precious, and you’re not alone. I hope you know that.