the Karen next door

this morning i woke up to watch the sunrise from a nearby park, but something in me called to watch from my rooftop instead, as it faces the east. after some journaling pertaining to feeling a little confused about which direction to head in right now and not having a specific calling to any one of my options in particular; the neighbor whose window faces mine called out to me. “are you taking selfies?” she chimed in a raspy voice polluted with nicotine. i answered that i was taking a video of the sunrise and before i could finish my sentence she made it known that she saw me posing. i admitted that i did in fact turn the camera to have my face in the video at the end. rather smugly, she then changed the conversation to a black and white cat that used to sit in my window. “snowcap” i stated. she told me that a few years ago she had realized he died because she no longer saw him looking out of my window. she went on about her black and white cat who would sit opposite snowcap in her window. we laughed about how they might of thought they were just looking in the mirror. her chocolate brown hair fell to her shoulders and as she laughed, the smoke streamed from the cigarette in her right hand effortlessly into the wind. she was like an older Audrey Hepburn but if Audrey Hepburn was stuck in central New Jersey taking care of her mother who was also probably struggling from nicotine addiction and rotting lungs in a two floor beaten down house. her black and white cat died this past christmas eve.

she steered the conversation to how old i am now. we discussed the path I’m on and how i’m feeling very stuck about which direction to head, basically quoting my journal to her word for word. somehow it was easier to tell this stranger, yet not stranger, of a women (because apparently she had watched me grow up through my east facing window) about my lack of direction at 23 years old. i told her about my sister and how she’s going to grad school next year and will be an elementary school teacher. the woman next door told me that i’m still very young and that it will all work out. i was a little surprised by her support, i guess i had assumed she would be one of the more traditional path and that she’d tell me to get a full time job or go back to school. throughout our conversation i was realizing that this lady had watched me grow into who i am today. she watched my childhood pet fade from the window. she saw my sister and i stop walking from the bus stop and instead arriving in the driver seat of our 2008 prius with the bummer held up in zip ties. i also realized that she may have noticed when i changed with the curtain open, whoops. and maybe she even caught a glimpse of my most risky high school act, of sneaking out my rooftop window. this woman had kept my secrets. she was my own personal diary without me ever knowing i was even writing to her. there’s something about my New Jersey childhood that’s twisted with a tinge of nostalgia. and today i’m thanking the Karen next door for keeping my secrets hidden in her west facing room and reminiscing with me only through early morning breaths of tobacco. sincerely,

anjali