Slice Of Life

Spring, 2004

One of many classes I took at school after I moved to California was “Color and Design”. I liked the class. It was all about creativity, outside a box thinking and that was fun.

Once, a teacher gave us all an assignment to personalize a window. Each one got a sheet of paper with four lines drawn in the middle, which represented a window. Our task was to make it personal. There was no limit to our imagination or whatever media we wanted to use.

When I got my paper, I stared at it for couple of minutes, turned it, looked at it from all sides. There were just a few black lines. What could I possibly do with such a window except putting curtains on? The idea of curtains didn’t appeal me much and I kept on thinking. I came up with as simple a solution as it gets: to personalize a window by showing whatever it is I see on the outside. I liked this idea a lot and immediately, questions started to pop up. What kind of window? Where? What do I see? It felt to me as I was going through a brainstorm of a century as I was thinking, but I couldn’t find answers to those questions, which sounded right. I was about to give it all up when it clicked. What if I show THE window? That was it. You see, there is only one window in my life. It’s the window in my room back in my parents’ place in Russia. This is the only place in the whole world I call simply “home”. This is the place where I grew up; here I feel very safe and here I am truly myself. In this place, all of my fears disappear into the air and all my dreams and hopes get reinforced. This is the place where my heart is. And I was about to draw it. Could it get any more personal than that? The decision was made and I got to work.

I picked up just a few colors: green for trees and landscape; gray for buildings, and black for everything else. I wanted my drawing to be simple for it wasn’t a craftsmanship I was putting in; it was an idea.

I stand in my room and look out of the window. It’s windy and gloomy outside. I see a gravel walkway and shrubs and trees on each side of it; my dad and I planted them years ago, when I went to an elementary school. The walkway leads to a bus stop part of which is rebuilt into a stall where people can buy groceries on the way home. There is nobody here now. Meaningless bus schedule, for buses don’t run on a schedule anyway, dangles on the wind. I see Buharestskaya street in front of me. Its wide and gray body separates the area where I live from a wasteland and parks on the other side. Usually, the street is incredibly busy, but right now there is not a single car in sight. There are no people, too. It feels like there is nobody in the whole world. It’s like I fell out of pace with life. I am just a second behind but there is no life here anymore, just things. As I cross the street, I walk along Dunayskiy prospect, past a park where I used to go skiing when I was little, a school and a dormitory and a very long apartment building. There is just a wasteland on my right now, but when we just moved here, there was a forest. If I keep walking this way, I will get to a bit grocery store and if I keep walking even further, I will get to a subway station. But I choose not to walk and to get back inside.

Here I am, at my window, again. How many times was I standing exactly like that, curtains on each side of me, waiting for my parents to get home? Hundreds? Thousands? I cannot say for sure. I stare at the darkness looking for tiny figures of people, doing my best to recognize my parents. I can barely see in the dim light of a few streetlights. I see one figure, which looks like my dad, getting out of a streetcar and my heartbeat stops for a second longer as I see him crossing a busy street. No, it’s not him; it’s not the way my dad walks. Both of my parents are late from work and I pray for them to get home safe. I keep looking and waiting until I see someone waving a hand at me. Mom! Now, my heart jumps with joy as I run down to the entry to open a door for her. I am so relieved, I am so happy. There are not enough words to describe how much I love her. Night’s darkness turns into a noon’s sunshine; cold of fall becomes warmth of spring; and my whole being is getting overwhelmed with love, as I see mom coming in and taking off her coat.

This is what I mean by “my” window. In a way, it means family to me for it is what I was waiting there for.

I look down at the sheet of paper. It’s not blank any more. It’s all so personal.There is my window. Right here. As I stare at it, I feel tears in my eyes for it’s the first time I realize that actually I don’t have it anymore. Suddenly, I feel so empty and so lost. There is a part of me that is missing; there is a huge hole in my heart and a cold of loneliness goes right through it and it freezes me to the bones. There is a single thought in my head: I don’t have my window anymore.

I don’t know how long I was sitting like this, all shivering on a hot day in the middle of spring, starring at a simple drawing, but class is over and I have to leave. I turn in my drawing and I don’t care what grade I am going to get for it. I know for sure that even if I wanted, I wouldn’t be able to personalize this window any more than I just did.