Blythe sat on her balcony, sketching the geranium leaves and the spider web in the balcony railing below them. She had two window boxes of geraniums attached to her balcony railing and so far they hadn’t died. She was quite impressed with herself. She forced herself to sketch for an hour or two every week. Even though she loved drawing and painting, it felt like a chore. Why does it still require discipline to do the things we love doing? she wondered again. Every week, she procrastinated, unable to find something interesting enough to sketch, feeling like she had already drawn every object in her house. Surely I don’t need to sketch that chair again, I could probably do it blind-folded, she would think.

Today, it had suddenly hit her, that the geranium leaves would be perfect. Thrilled with actually having a moment of inspiration, she grabbed her pencils and sketchbook and settled down outside. The weather was coolish but it hadn’t rained yet. The geraniums were getting some good evening light. A nice little challenge. An organic object.

As she sketched, she thought about the crazy professor she had had for Life Drawing in college. On the small platform in the art room, he would walk around and around the models, in his white lab coat and a short pointer which he had probably carved himself.

“Remark the angle of the femur,” he would say, pointing at a thigh, “Notice the pronounced clavicle”, indicating the collarbone. Except for the fact that there was a living nude model, it could have been an Anatomy and Physiology class. She smiled. He had definitely embraced the image of mad scientist. At the time, she hadn’t thought twice about it, but now she wondered if he had done it on purpose, subtly linking art and science, trying to show them the benefit of understanding both worlds. Her observation skills had improved dramatically.

Below her, she heard the squeak of the balcony door opening in Number #2.  The balconies were all private, in-set into the building but you could still easily hear any conversations floating in the air. There was an almost unwritten rule that you didn’t use your balcony if you knew someone else was out on theirs. Blythe heard the click-click-click of the gas barbeque starting. Hmm dinner, she thought, what am I going to eat? She had a sinking feeling that she had eaten the last of her frozen dinners two nights ago.

Blythe hated cooking. In this one area of her life, she felt completely and totally uncreative. She could open a fridge door and stare for long minutes without coming up with any ideas, whereas several of her friends had this uncanny knack for opening the same fridge door and whipping up marvelous and unique creations in thirty minutes.

Suddenly a large flying ant landed on Blythe’s arm. She shrieked and brushed it off. The noise on the balcony below her stopped.

“I’m fine,” she called out spontaneously and then instantly regretted it. Thankfully there was only silence below and then a soft shuffle as Richard went back into his living room.

Downstairs, Richard was blushing. She had talked to him, she had realized he was listening. In the kitchen, he picked up the plate and the BBQ sauce and walked slowly back towards the balcony door. If only he could just call up casually, “Want to have a burger?” There was nothing to it – she had even started the conversation.

He walked out the door and laid the burgers on the grill and then sat down in the small folding chair. He couldn’t say it. He listened. Above the sizzle on the BBQ, he heard six or seven distinct thwacks, like a large fly hitting a window.

“Hello bugs,” said Blythe and giggled. She doesn’t realize I’m back out here, thought Richard holding still.

“Look at you trying so desperately to get in.” It made her laugh to see the large black fly repeatedly hurl itself against first the balcony door, then the window next to it. The burger smell started to make her hungry. She wanted one too. She got up, the geranium leaves completed. Time to treat myself to a burger, she thought and walked inside to find her wallet and keys.

Downstairs, Richard looked up.

“Would you like a burger?” he said out loud. But he was now the only one out on the balconies of 515 Walnut Street. He sighed.