Windows of the Soul

I came across a room inside which a young woman painted intricate images on the bare white walls. Over each image, she nailed intersected wood and added curtains and sills. "Why don’t you get a real window?" I asked.

The woman laughed, amused, but I could see fear in her eyes. "Because I have all I need to create these," she stated, waving her hand over a pile of supplies in the corner. To prove to me that she was right, she picked out a piece of lumber. Another appeared to take its place. With hammer and nails that I hadn’t noticed before, she nailed the board to the wall and framed another image at eye level. Her southern view had snowcapped peaks. To the north, she had a desert. The window directly above the desert on the northern wall showed a beach.

"It looks nice," I told her, but because she appreciated her solitude, she didn’t answer.

I waited while she painted another window. This one had a mist enshrouded palace forming just across a mysterious moat. This window, at least, I knew was fantasy. I left her to her paintings.

*

I returned to the room the next day, wondering if - no, expecting - I would find the walls riddled with windows to other souls. It wasn’t to be.

"Why is it all black?" I asked, not really startled by the change, but curious nonetheless.

The young woman straightened from her pile of supplies. She approached me carrying a long, iron pole. With her eyes, she measured the distance from floor to ceiling in front of the door. Deliberately, she wedged the iron pole firmly into place. Then, she met my gaze. "The windows were beginning to look the same."

The walls were painted black. The floor, too, and the ceiling she’d somehow managed to reach. While I watched, she wedged two more iron poles in front of me, allowing only enough room to stand just inside the door. I stepped backwards, allowing her room to work. "Why are you doing this?" I asked.

She laughed bitterly. "This is all it is," she stated, extending her arms as if to encompass the whole, black room.

"What is?" I asked.

"This!"

"What?" I wasn’t sure I understood what she meant, but then again, I don’t think she quite knew what I was getting at, either.

"This!" she repeated, then forestalled another question from me by grabbing a fourth pole and wedging it in front of the door with a vengeance. I took another step backwards, almost out the door.

"I’m not sure I understand," I said, watching her cautiously now.

She lowered her head so her chin touched her chest, her hair falling to enshroud her face from my view. Fury left her back limp and unsupporting. She crumpled to the floor.

I knelt in front of her, letting the four iron bars prevent my advance, though they didn’t completely block the door. "Are you all right?" I asked, reaching to touch her lowered head in order to reclaim her attention. Before my fingertips made contact, though, she raised her head, baring her teeth in a weary smile.

"I know you don’t understand," she said with a very tired inflection to her clear, low voice. "That’s why you came back. I think if you understood, you wouldn’t return."

Still seated, we faced each other; the iron bars between us kept us separated in concept only. I smiled, wanting her friendship. I dropped my extended hand to my lap, not thinking twice about it.