Kate Can Cook

I work at an office building in D.C., on the fourth floor. Because I have a certain amount of seniority among the newbs, I have a window cube. (I write that with a smirk on my face and an ever-inflating ego. Ha.) The danger of having a window cube, I suppose, is that you get distracted from time to time.

My cube window faces an apartment building, so my view is essentially wall and blinds, although I can see the top third of a random tree planted in the sidewalk. Occasionally, a bird will land on my ledge and I will stare at it, wondering how bored it must be to land on the ledge of a federal employee.

Most days pass by without much distraction from the window. Every so often, a fire truck will roll by, sirens blaring. But some days…

Some days… oh, how do I put this. Some days, I am visited by Naked Guy. Naked Guy lives in an apartment across the street, and our torrid love affair began a little over a year ago, shortly before my marriage with Jazz.

It began harmlessly enough. My computer faces the window, and on a morning not unlike this one, I was tip-tack-tapping away at my keyboard, when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Out of curiousity, my head turned, and there. he. was. A figure, in an apartment across the street, opening his blinds and window, completely naked. Well, I don’t know if he was *completely* naked; he could have been wearing socks.

I was startled and turned back to my computer, blushing. I said nothing. It was an innocent mistake. I shouldn’t have looked… I mean, not that there was much to look at, exactly, but still.

At least a week went by, and I concentrated on my work, pushing Naked Guy out of my head. And then it happened AGAIN. Except this time, he was naked by the window, then brushing his teeth naked, shaving naked, and then putting on his clothes…naked.

I wasn’t watching him per se. I was just interested in how much he would do while naked. Plus, it was interesting to see exactly how much I could see into his apartment from my cube. But could he see me? Did he know I peeked? He had to, right? I had to get some expert opinions on this.

I asked some cube neighbors, and none had seen him. I asked some other employees, and they thought I was crazy. The next day, it happened AGAIN. This time I alerted my cube neighbors, and we all looked together, laughing and blushing. I told some other co-workers. He seemed to be on some sort of schedule; around 8:00, he would be naked. The next day, I had a small crowd, a gathering if you will. And yes, he appeared AGAIN. “Oh, he knows,” one co-worker exclaimed, “he definitely knows. He’s probably one of those voyeurs.”

To this day, I’m still incredulous about whether he can see me. I mean, he’s naked! He doesn’t look up or anything, he just opens his blinds and windows, naked as a jay bird, and then goes on his naked way doing all sorts of naked things.

I’m just fascinated I suppose. Perhaps I’m just not cool enough with my body to walk around my apartment naked, let alone open all sorts of windows and blinds. I think Jazz is sort of jealous of my interest in naked guy, but it’s not *that* sort of interest.

He’s not exactly nice to look at, all kinds of strange flatness and lumpiness. But, then again, it’s sort of beautiful. Here is this person who just likes to be naked. He’s okay enough with who he is to do all sorts of naked things. I guess it’s a little refreshing, seeing someone naked who obviously doesn’t care if anyone can see him naked.

So, here’s to Naked Guy, and here’s to my readers, as few as there may be. May you always find happiness in the naked.