The Girl on the Balcony

...My Name is John. This story is about one of my most memorable times in Spain....

It was Thursday, the only day of the week that my teaching schedule left me free. I taught English and Literature in more than in a high school. I was twenty-five and full of enthusiasm for books and imagination.
I was sitting on the balcony drinking Juice and rereading - after a lapse of ten years - The Black boy.
Suddenly i felt someone watching me.
I looked up. On one of the balconies of the building facing mine, at the same height as my own apartment, i saw a young woman. I raised a hand and waved. She waved back and left the balcony.
Curious to know where this might lead, i tried to get a glimpse inside her apartment, with no result.
"This will go nowhere," i said to myself, and returned to my reading.
I hadn't read ten lines before she was back on her balcony, this time with a reading glasses. She sat down on a deckchair.
I began feverishly making signs and gestures. The young woman was reading - or pretending to read - a magazine.
"It's a ruse," I thought. "it's not possible that she doesn't see me, and now she's posing so I can enjoy the show."

I couldn't quite make out her features, but i could tell she was tall,slim with dark curly hair. Overall, she seemed to be a beautiful girl, maybe twenty-two years old.
I left the balcony, went to my bedroom, and peered through the shutters. She was looking in my direction. So i ran out and caught her still looking my way.
I sent her a big, pompous wave which demanded a response. Indeed,she waved back.
After such greetings, the usual thing is to strike up a conversation. But of course we were not going to shout across to each other. So I made a sign with my right hand,which as everyone knows,meant i wanted to call her on the telephone. Sinking her head into her shoulders and opening her hands, the young woman indicated, again and again, that she didn't understand.
"B***h! How could she not understand?"

I went back inside, got my cell phone and took it out to the balcony with me. I raised it high above my head,swinging from left to right. "So, little head, do you or do you not get it?"
Yes, she got it. A toothy smile lit her face like a flash of lightning, and she nodded affirmatively.
Fine. I now had permission to call her. Only i didn't know her number. I would have to find out using body language.
I went back to making complicated signs and gestures. Formulating the question wasn't easy, but she knew perfectly well what i needed to know.
Naturally, as women will, she wanted to have a little fun with me.
She stretched the game out as long as possible. And,at last,She *pretended* to understand what had doubtless been clear from the beginning.
Using her forefinger, she drew hieroglyphs in the air. I realized she was drawing the numbers and that i would have to "decode" what i saw. Thus, I obtained the seven numbers that would put me in touch with my good-looking neighbour from across the way.

I was pleased as punch.I went into my bedroom and dialled the number immediately. At the first ring, someone answered:
"Helloooowww!!" a deep male voice thundered in my ear.
Surprised, i hesitated.
"Who's there?" added the booming voice, with a touch of anger and impatience.
"Uh . . . " I mumbled, intimidated. "Is this 771 . . . ?
"Stronger, sir!" The man interrupted, unbearably. "I can't hear nothing, sir! Who d'you want to talk to,sir?"
He said "stronger" instead of "louder," he said "I can't hear nothing" instead of "I can't hear anything", He said sir in the tone you use to call someone an idiot.
Terrified, I stammered
"Uh . . . With the girl . . ."
"What girl, sir? What girl are you talking about, sir?" The thunderous voice now carried a note of menace.
How do you explain something to someone who doesn't want to understand?
"Uh . . . With the girl on the balcony." My voice was a tiny sliver of glass.
But this didn't move him. On the contrary, he became more enraged;
"Don't bother us,sir,please! We're working folks, sire!"
An irate click ended the conversation. For a minute there I was speechless. I looked at the phone and began cursing it between clenched teeth.

Then I spoke harshly of that stupid girl who hadn't taken the trouble to answer the phone herself.
Suddenly I decided it was my fault for calling too soon.
The man with the booming voice had answered so quickly, the phone must be within reach, maybe even on his desk. That's why he'd said, "We're working folks."
And what about me? Everybody worked, that wasn't so special. I tried to picture him,
giving him awful features: he was fat, florid, perspiring, and potbellied.
This stentorian-voiced fellow had served me an unconditional defeat by phone. I felt a bit depressed and wanting vengeance.
Afterwards I returned to the balcony, resolved to ask the young woman what her name was. She wasn't there. "Of course," I deduced optimistically, "she's standing by the phone waiting anxiously for me to call.

With my spirits somewhat renewed, but also with trepidation, I dialled the seven numbers. I heard a ring; I heard:
"Helloooowww!!"
Terrified, I hung up.
I thought: "This troglodyte can tyrannise me just because I'm lacking one thing: the name of the person with whom I want to speak. I must obtain it."
Then I reasoned: "In the Green Guide there's a section where it's possible to use the telephone number to find out someone's name. I don't have a Green Guide. Large companies have the guide. Banks are large companies. Therefore banks have the guide.
My friend Bassey works in a bank."
I called Bassey.
"Oh, dear John," he answered, "I'm overjoyed to hear your voice . . ."
"Thanks, Bassey. But listen . . ."
" . . . that voice of a young man with no cares or obligations, duties or responsibilities. Lucky you, dear John, drifting along on the happy tide of life, not
allowing external events to disturb your peace. Lucky you . . ."
I can't prove it, but I beg to be believed; I swear Bassey exists and that indeed,he talks like that and says that kind of thing.
After having endowed me with such imaginary charms, he proceeded to portray himself - without giving me a chance to talk - as a sort of victim:
"In contrast,I,the humble and negligible Bassey, carry on today, as I did yesterday and will tomorrow, and for centuries of centuries, dragging a heavy carload of miseries and heartaches across this treacherous planet . . ."
I had heard this story a thousand times.
My mind wandered as I waited for the litany of complaints to reach an end. Then suddenly I heard;
"It's been nice talking to you. Take care, now."
And he hung up. Indignant, I called him back.
"Wtf? BASSEY!" I reproached him, "Why did you hang up?"
"Ah," he said, "you wanted to tell me something?"
"Of cause yes. You should really Learn how to communicate Via phone. Anyway, I want you to look in the Green Guide, see whose
name corresponds to this telephone number . . ."
"Hang on. I'm looking for my fountain pen, I hate to write with pencils or ballpoints."
I was eaten up with impatience.
Finally, after several minutes, he said;
"That number belongs to one Latina David I.O.
But, why do you want to know?"
"Thanks a lot, Bassey. I'll explain some other time. Bye now."
Now at last: I had in my possession a powerful weapon. I dialled the girl's number.
"Helloooowww!!" thundered the caveman.
With no hesitation, but with sonorous and well- modulated voice, and even a certain peremptory note, I enunciated:
"I'd like to speak to Miss Latina."
"Who's calling, sir?"
This habit of asking who's calling gets my goat. To unnerve him I said, "This is Siberia John Oluwatosin Oghenekevwe chukwuemeka Fredrick CFR ."
"Uh, You said?" he stuttered, "Well,The latina's haven't lived here for at least four years, sir! I get so many calls for the damned Family, sir!"
"And if they don't live there any more, how come you asked me who's . . .?"
I was cut off by a furious click. He hadn't even allowed this minimal protest against his despotic behaviour. Well, I wasn't going to let him get away with it!
Quick as a flash I dialled again.
"Helloooowww!!"
Enunciating slowly as if I were mentally deficient, I asked:
"May I pwease tawk to de Latina famiwee?"
"No you can't, sir! The latina's haven't lived here for at least five years, sir!"
"Oh, gweat! Dat's you, MR Latina . . . How
you dooing, Sir?"
"No, no, sir! Listen to me, sir!" He was about to blow a fuse. "The Latina's haven't lived here for at least seven years, sir!"
"You dooing OK,Sir Latina?" I cordially
insisted. "And your wife? And your little ones? Don't you remember me, sir?"
"But who are you, sir?" In addition to being terrible, the monster was curious.
"This is Bawwie."
"Barrie?" he repeated, disgusted. "Barrie who?"
"Bawwie, sir latina, the cwerk in the
Libwawy."
"What?! The library?!" He hadn't understood me very well: it was all I could do to keep from laughing.
"Bawwie, sir, Bawwie Wudder."
"Barrie Rudder? What Barrie Rudder?"
"Bawwie Wudder, the one that got one eye cwossed and can't see with the other, sir."
He exploded;
"Do me a favour and get lost,you idiot! Why don't you just shoot yourself, clown!?"
"I can't, sir Latina. My aim is cloudy. The last time I wanted to shoot myself in the head I accidentally killed a bird in the air."
There was a moment of silence, as if, having gone raving mad, he was breathing in all the oxygen in the atmosphere so as not to die of apoplexy.
Patiently, I waited.
Then, at the peak of fury and strangling on his own rage, the fiend launched his heavy artillery at me, screaming, hurling the words so fast they were tripping over each other;
"Go to hell, you siphilitic, heamorraging piece of Siberian shit, you mental misfit, you crusty pie-faced hanker, you parasite, you useless imbecilic son of a whore-faced loon!!!!"
"I am so gwateful for those complements, sir, Much Thanks."
He slammed the phone down with a violent bang.
A pity, for I was enjoying his insults. It was delicious to imagine my enemy; red in the face, perspiring, tearing his hair and biting his knuckles . . . maybe even the telephone had been damaged by being banged so
hard.
I felt something close to happiness. It no longer mattered that i couldn't talk to the girl on the balcony.

....~ .....~......
So, this Story is PURELY Fiction. But, I Hope you loved it?
Kindly leave your comments and tell me what you think. I really want to get feedback on this Post, it's the First of it's
Kind - being comedy - heh,was it even funny at all? #shrugs# - and the first story in which I'm a GUY #aaaaarrrghhhh#.
Iono, was just spreading my wings he he. Do let me know what you think tho.

Much Love.