observant

Wait, wait, I think i'm going overboard again.  People don't need to be ill or in serious danger to be isolated.  Maybe he retired from his job, or got laid off, and all his friends were there.  Now they don't have time to get together with him, so he just sits up there alone.  He never cultivated any hobbies, or he's just too shy to meet anybody through them.  He's always been a solitary man, polite but not friendly, mostly just saying hello.  Never gets too close to anybody, afraid of rejection or afraid of losing them after getting close or something.  So who could the day visitor be?  Still could be a social worker, I guess.  If he's been laid off, maybe he applied for benefits and she checks up on him to make sure he needs them or they're being used appropriately.  Now I feel a little bad for staring at him through my binoculars like he's an animal in a zoo.  Well, I guess you don't need binoculars in a zoo, but I feel ashamed for thinking of him as entertainment.  I tell myself stories.  Nobody seems to have facts and I think that makes it OK to make a fantasy world for him.  Maybe I can never imagine his life, or what happened to make him the way he is today.  In fact, i think I'll do the easiest thing.  I'll go knock on his door and introduce myself, and try to find out about him.  Yes, I'll go right now.  Put down the binoculars, go downstairs.  Out the door.  Look both ways.  Street clear, crossing.  Around back, up the stairs to his door.  Hmm.  They look kind of run down.  I knock at the door.  No answer.  Knock again, harder.  I'm seized with curiosity.  I try the handle.  It turns, and the door opens.  It doesn't occur to me that I'm trespassing, although that's really what I'm doing.  It's not breaking and entering if the door's open, is it?  I push open the door and a hot, stale breath of air oozes around the creaky wood.  I call out hello and receive no response.  I look around and don't see anybody obviously observing me.  So, in I go.  It's empty.  Dusty.  I go towards the window facing mine and stop when I see there's no table or chair or anything.  I have the sudden need to be out in the fresh air and I leave, remembering to close the door firmly behind me.  I try to resist the desire to check that night, but my curiosity wins out in the end, and I turn off my light and draw back the curtain.  There he is!  The same as always.  Sitting and brooding.  The table and chair have reappeared and now it dawns on me that there wasn't even a lightbulb this afternoon, just the bare wire dangling.  I don't know why I'm not more afraid or more frustrated at my not understanding.