THE CAMPFIRE · ORIGINAL
The Neighbor Who Waves
The old man across the street waves every time she looks out her window. Morning, noon, three in the morning. Always waving. She finally figures out he isn't waving hello.
An Obsidian Registry original
The CampfireThe openingFree
When I moved into my first apartment after college, I didn't know anyone in the city. It was a second-floor apartment in an old brick building on a narrow street. My bedroom window looked straight across the street at another old brick building, close enough that I could see into the windows on the other side.
And in the window directly across from mine, there was an old man.
The first morning I opened my blinds, he was standing at his window. Looking out. White hair. A cardigan. Very thin. And when he saw me, he raised his hand and waved.
I waved back. It was nice. Somebody friendly.
That evening, when I came home from work and opened my blinds, he was at his window. He waved.
I waved.
The next morning. Waving.
That night, at eleven, when I went to close my blinds before bed. There he was. In the dark window, with a lamp on behind him. Waving.
It was starting to feel a little weird.
The fire is still burning
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