I open the screen door to the apartment. It’s hot, making the screen door necessary to keep cool inside. Standing on the doorstep I peer into the gloom but cannot see anyone in the lounge room. The TV is blaring away, but to no audience. I shrug and then enter. I am quiet as I pad down the carpeted hallway to the lounge where I drop my bag silently. Turning to the left there is another small hall with doors closed at each end. I walk over to the right hand door and push it halfway open.
She is sitting there, back to me in front of the computer. Her body hides the screen and she is so engrossed that she doesn’t hear me enter. The Venetian blinds are down so that the second story view across the suburbs cannot be seen. I stand there for a moment, unsure of how to announce my arrival. I hear a faint gasp and initially think that she has discovered that I am there, but as she doesn’t turn to greet me I discount the notion. Puzzled at what she is doing I take a step forward. From my new position I can see the base of the chair she is sitting on. I am surprised to see that she is naked from the waist down, her pants and knickers around her ankles. I can now see that her hand is in her lap, playing backwards and forwards, and her shoulders shake with each stroke. I am torn between continuing to pretend that I am not there or too announce my arrival, particularly as I am unsure how to do so without embarrassing her.