Thieves in the Night

Back home I never noticed the moon much. I don’t pay it much mind here either, not until I looked up that night and against the clear black sky there was a large orange moon; a moon that looked like a sun, bright and full but dim enough to look at. It was a naughty version of itself. Like a lustful moon that wasn’t blushing, but rouged.
The moon bled clear bright light while a shadow of a man watched me through the side window of my house. Yellow light glowed from the single window with sheer domicile curtains. I laid on the couch right under the window oblivious and watching a movie on a laptop. My neighbors all go to sleep before I do but Oh, my latest “counterpart” woke up to go to the toilet. She spotted him through the naked bathroom window of her house and called me. She whispered. I always thought of her as such; a whisperer. One who says things in quiet hushed tones when you’re not around or not listening. But this time she whispered pertinent information—that a man was watching me through my side window. The first time I introduced myself to Oh was the night I went to a party in Good Hope with my then counterpart, KT. KT told me Oh would be the new social worker in Pitsane, so I introduced myself. Oh got up mid conversation and walked away. No goodbye or it was nice to meet you, or I have to go. She just left. That was the first time I put in effort but after all my efforts with KT, my patience was threadbare and so the next time Oh blew me off was my last effort. Though we communicate infrequently and in fake polite bursts, I get the impression that she resents my lack of effort. She’s put even less effort than I have. The office is right behind our houses. She lives next door to me. I’ll go weeks without seeing her but I know its my job to solicit people’s love and approval, its my job to be pleasant. I feel a little guilty for two half hearted attempts for her approval, but I just can’t stand being tolerated on good days, avoided or blown off on bad days and never genuinely liked and so I’ve found my own activities involving people who don’t mind working with me.

The night Oh called, to tell me that a man was watching though the yellow glow of my side window, that was the beginning of a change. After Neo and her boyfriend chased the thief away I felt “integrated.” Like someone cared about me. My neighbors. My community. They liked me. They saved me, right?
Several months later I read The Bluest Eye for the 3rd maybe 4th time and the phone call made much more sense. I love Toni Morrison. Her prose. Her insight. She can put ugly truths so beautifully. This time I recognized where Mos Def and Talib Kweli got the chorus for Thieves in the Night.
“Not strong, only aggressive; we were not free, merely licensed; we were not compassionate, we were polite; not good, but well behaved. We courted death in order to call ourselves brave, and hid like thieves (in the night) from life.”
Toni Morrison had described me and Oh, and so perfectly. The sandy sentiments all around me storming my head and sliding through my fingers: does she like me, does she hate me, should I have tried harder? Then there was the man looking through my window, Oh watching him through hers; the phone call, the whispering,. What I perceived as integration and genuine concern was just common courtesy. I thought about it. I’d have done the same for her. I’d have even done the same for someone I hated because we’re not compassionate, we’re only polite. We’re not good people, just well behaved.
That’s when my bleeding heart healed. I’ve healed and my heart is lame. Now it’s a machine more than an organ and I don’t spend as much time wondering if colleagues really like me. I sleep better at night with the measured beats of a pacemaker and not the fickle pump of a fleshy heart hungry for approval.