Ten layers of space exist between where I can touch the window sill and the furthest point I can see out my window. The sill begins as an exterior, I can touch its contents, put my ashtray on it, lay some receipts on its edge, but it tends to dirty when I open the window. I mostly keep it clean with a wet rag though two yet-to-be-discovered and permanent blotches near its back remind me to be more cautious. The window, the second layer, is divided into two equal halves, like a half-dressed body, with the screen only covering the lower half. The dirty screen, the third layer, which I can’t reach because the sill is too long, comes within only a few centimeters of the seven black bars, the fourth layer, their cast shadows on the pavement create one of the three problems of such an obstructed, ten-layered view from a window.
The problem is that without the bars’ shadows on the fifth layer, the sidewalk, no one would realize that a window existed where it does. Instead, their shadows attract any general stripling and I watch as they bob their heads below their knees and peer into my window, wanting to see what’s on my desk or in my bedroom. Rarely do I make eye contact but when I dance or play loud music or sleep with my window open I occasionally find a few strangers peeking in.
At night the bars blend with the darkness but still divide the white gutter in six separate regions like any arm -- if you count each joint in your hand, your wrist, your elbow, and your shoulder as separate regions.
The grass and mulch fill the largest layer between the bottom and top, like a thick fur of misunderstanding (who is it that decides to put a flower bed or small yard between the curb and the sidewalk?) and when it snows in the street the grass rarely fills with snow and if I were to go outside the window’s view wouldn’t help me decide if it’s cold outside or if I need more layers.
Most mornings I wake up and wonder why my only window looks out onto these ten layers, or why the tenth and last layer, the red fence, is all that I can see when I’m in my chair. If I bend my head down low enough, straining my neck, I can see over top of the red fence and I see another window, always closed, with seven other bars. The brick around the window is painted white, but I can see a few spots of the red brick. I don’t know how many layers one can see outside of that window but I imagine it’s more than ten, which is the second problem.
The third and final problem is the ninth layer, my favorite, the gutter that lies along the red fence.