I cleaned out my office in the library about six months ago and took home a shoebox I thought was mine. When I found out it wasn't mine at all, I tried to find out who the box could've belonged to. I haven't had any luck yet. If you or anyone else has lost a shoebox with the contents I'm about to describe, let me know.

CONTENTS
1. A matchbook.
2. A photo of a girl.
3. An index card with a phone number and address.
4. A manuscript for... a novel? Hard to tell.
5. A green hair bow.

I feel like I'm violating something by posting this, but I read the first bit of the manuscript and thought it was so interesting that I'd post it here.

THE WINDOW

I was thirteen the first time I saw her. It was one of those prohibitively hot days in July when the light of the sun glints menacingly off of every piece of metal or glass. It makes you want to shield your eyes, or not look outside at all. I was bored, so I sat on the couch in front of the window and watched as cars negotiated the tar of the melting street.

It was her dress I noticed first. It was pale green and polka dotted. It looked anachronistic given that the other girls her age were wearing Daisy Dukes and tank tops. Her hair was something between brown and red, and she had it done up with a matching green bow. She was walking past my house on the sidewalk. When she was almost past, she turned and looked at me. How did she know I was there? Her face was dark. She had black eyes like almonds. Indian descent? I wasn't sure that she was beautiful. Her face was certainly attractive. She looked nice in her dress. But something about her kept me from falling in love with her the way I fell in love with every mildly pretty girl I saw at that age. For whatever reason, her face has left a scar on my memory that cannot be erased.

She turned around and stepped into the street, right in front of a silver Tahoe whose chrome blinded me with an explosion of reflected light. I heard tires squeal against soggy road. I ran out the screen door shouting. The driver was a middle aged woman, pale as a sheet. We approached the front of the car hesitantly. Looked. Nothing.

It was as if she was never there. No green dress. Nothing. The driver got on her knees. Looked under the car. Searched the neighbor's yard. Asked me repeatedly if I'd seen her. She eventually got back into her car and drove off. She looked angry, like I'd played a trick on her.

I watched her go. Turned around to go back inside. On the ground was a green hair bow. Hadn't we looked there earlier? I picked it up. Looked into the oak trees above my head. Nothing.

That night I didn't sleep. Or if I did sleep, I dreamt of her face, her dark face, looking directly at me.