Two Voices

Part One  

He sat on the fire escape, observing the lively city beneath. Digging through my crumpled bag of onion rings, the boy listened to the conversations filling the street. Those stressed about their upcoming job interviews, an awkward first date, or the woman walking her dog were his entertainment for the night. “Should I wear the magenta blouse or the Fuchsia one?” an anxious young woman asked her less-than-interested friend. He murmured something the boy couldn’t hear, but assumed it wasn't to her liking as she loudly huffed and sped up her pace. Both of those colors are awful, he thought, dipping his onion ring-coated fingers back into the bag. “What did you think about the movie?” asked a lanky man, clearly shaking with nerves. “I heard really good reviews about it from my Mom", he explained to his apparent date, who was sporting a very displeased expression. “It was.... good”, the woman, having to force the words from her lips, said. Her voice trailed off as the couple passed by. That date didn't go well, he thought, continuing his snack. Crumbs spilled on top of the heads of those who passed, but the boy didn’t care. The conversations came and went as the hours struck by, only noticeable through the descending sun. The fire escape he rested on gave way for the perfect view of the convenience store across the street. Hundreds of potential conversations to observe. He saw groups of drunk girls purchasing their alcoholic beverage of choice while a tired old man bought a sandwich after his long day of work. The boy sat for hours on the fire escape, watching guard of the city block. The convenience store owner shot him a wave, the first acknowledgment of the boy's existence. Staring motionless at the man, the boy thought to himself, how long has this man been looking at me? Thumbing at his onion rings once more, now mostly crumbs, he brushed off the interaction, stared at the passing pedestrians down below, and felt the warm air of the city wash over him. 

Part Two  

It had been a slow night at the bodega, only the passing through of strangers to make the time go by. Groups of irritating young adults with their high-pitched shrieks rattled in the shop owner's head. He looked outside as the descending sun marked peak business time. The flow of couples grabbing a snack after their dinner dates or the older gentleman who bought a ham and cheese sandwich every night post-work entertained the shop clerk. He noted the boy on the fire escape, never leaving his perch, simply watching the city below him. The clerk, having repeatedly heard the shouting from said fire escape, observed the boy's demeanor. A placid expression framed the boy's face. “Do you know who that boy is up there?”, asked the clerk to the unassuming older gentleman. Considering the man was there every night, he might have gained some knowledge on the boy. “All I know is the yelling I hear from their unit every night on my way home.” The older man took a pause, “that boy needs some friends” remarked the gentleman, swinging open the doors as he left, a warm gust of air sweeping into the store. The clerk thought to himself what the boy must do every day and why he was always on the fire escape. The sounds of the city didn't disrupt the man from watching the boy, they couldn't. He was transfixed on the boy who cast a silhouette onto the sky above. Perhaps I’ll bring the boy another bag of onion rings, the clerk thought, sinking into the counter as the murmur of his customers buzzed throughout the convenient store.