I know of a woman, an extraordinary woman, who is a bit oblivious of my fancy to peer into her life the way that I am, who fascinates me with every waking moment I watch her from the curbside across the street. She can't see me smile as I write this story, I have been watching her, wishing I could be her for years now..and never once has she noticed me. This woman is about in her mid twenties, right out of college a couple of years ago, though she is studying to get her PhD so she can have her own firm. But until then her husband is supporting her and her two darling children. A boy, energetic is all hell; and a girl the spitting image of her mother. I have never had the chance to catch her name... she is indeed transformed in the many years I have admired her, so even if I had recognized her by her name I am sure the name would have changed by now.

I catch myself mesmerized by the glow that surrounds her every movement, a glow as such that it makes me wonder where she hides her angel wings. I get entranced by just watching her as she goes on about her daily life and something inside me yearns to be here. I moved to the porch across the street as I always do in the morning and watch her day unfold

First I must begin to explain that she does not live in an ordinary house, but the best on Mulberry lane. She lives on Mulberry lane, not nearly as ritzy as the bird streets, like Bluejay Road or Cardnil Avenue, but almost damn near close to it. It was the house that drew me to her... I was hypnotized by the likeness in which it resembled the house I dreamed of curled in the sea of blankets at night, engulfed by the darkeners and covered by a canopy of dreams... of this house and of her life. I drove through the iron gates of Pleasantville Estates on a fairly pleasant afternoon one day. And while I was driving the maze of streets all intertwined together like one giant ball of yarn, I realized I had ventured into a suburban planet, not like the world on the outside of this secluded galaxy that had its own aura about it.

Once you venture in, you may never want to leave. All the houses are structured almost, but not quite alike, just enough to be somewhat similar but be able to stand alone, with some unique factors about it. Every every twist and turn as you get deeper and deeper into this jungle of suburbia the houses get larger, the fences get higher, and the yards becoming increasingly smaller. That day, I drove to Mulberry Lane and stumbled right into her world and have been lost within it ever since. I come here often to sit on the porch across the street, though some days I am so fascinated I find myself creeping closer to the curbside with the lush grass sinking beneath my body as I peer into her world. I catch myself being drawn to her every moment as she goes on about her day like clockwork

This woman, as I mentioned before, has a sweet glow around her and she seems to me to be an angel... and her walk confirms my suspicions. She glides, almost as if she were floating on air, with a sense of confidence and poise. She is about five feet tall give or take a few inches, petite, and with a figure most women- including me would kill to have- that hourglass figure, not too thin to be considered to have an eating disorder, but not so overweight, just enough to have curves in all the right places. She always puts her hair up in the springtime, when the birds are chirping in the lukewarm breeze and the smell of rain traps your senses. Her hair that is just long enough to pull in a high, slightly messy ponytail so that it is out of the way, and I watch her every morning curl two little curls of her red highlighted hair to frame her face, which adds a little more shine to her face and several more sparkles to her chocolate eyes. I think I may recall that she hardly ever has to put on pounds of make-up to perfect her beauty. She is a "natural" as people would call it. She just dusts on a light hint of makeup and even then she doesn't really need it. But I can tell she doesn't know that she is beautiful...she has every opportunity to be a snob, and she is so modest. But of course she came from a modest background of trouble and drama. And sometimes you can tell in the look of her eyes when she is alone that she remembers where she comes from

It's morning, and by now, at this point in my story you probably think I am a stalker, or obsessed. But really I am not so much... just in admiration and a twinge of jealousy attached. Back to the story, its morning and I am sitting Indian Style on the porch across the street, awaiting the alarm to go off inside her house, with my chin in my palm with my elbow rested in my lap. The alarm sounds I can hear in my head, like clockwork... she is awaken by her husband. Strong and tan...and oh, so handsome. He rolls over to her side of their lavishly king size bed and shook her ever so gently...and kissed her smooth forehead lovingly. A slight smile comes over her face as she turns back the comforters to embark on another bright sunshine filled day in Suburban Paradise. While her husband hops into the shower she goes down the hall to wake her children for school. Once the children are dressed with minimal complaints and they are corralled down the stairs to eat their cereal for breakfast.

Once breakfast is served I can see her climb the stairs again to get ready for her day...Of course I never watch her get dressed, I watch her children giggling and laughing, their small bodies shaking as they play at the breakfast table. She comes back down stairs with her husband following behind her. She looks so ravishing every morning, not the way any ordinary stay at home mom/student would look. I know she doesn't have class today because she is wearing a more elegant outfit. After she quietly eats her breakfast and packs lunches for the kids, suddenly the front door of this magnificent house opens and out bounds two small children, this woman I adore so much and her handsome, yet oh so unattainable husband, who is trying to get their small puppy into the house, so that the family can leave.

I watch from my perch, as I am now sitting in the grass across the street in a world all my own as I see the children climb into the red SUV and this woman and her husband converse before going to their respectable cars and heading out into the world to start their day. Her husband, briefcase in hand, lean down to kiss her lightly, and they whisper, "I love you" and her husband gets in his car and heads to work. No doubt to a law firm or a stock place- indefinitely somewhere important, he just always strikes me as someone important. The woman climbs into the SUV with her children playing in the backseat and fastens her seat belt, of course and looks to make sure her precious cargo is secure as well. Once she is satisfied with that she reverses the vehicle into the street and drives on to take her children away from the maze of streets and jungle of houses and small yards, to take them to school. After her trip to drop her children off which always ends with their small arms wrapped round her lovingly and "I love you mommy", she heads to the grocery store where I encounter her again in aisle seven.

Aisle Seven in the Country Apple Grocery Store is where I slowly inched my way to watch her examine the fruits, and place the best apples and oranges into her cart...only the ripest, the sweetest, the reddest and the brightest for her family. She proceeded to get meat, the leanest and the best on the market, and the freshest and softest bread also made its way into her cart. Every afternoon that she can be found in the grocery store, she looks like a super model who just stepped out of a magazine ad, as she pushed the cart behind her when she glides with ease through each aisle... smiling faintly to herself and others who pass her with a friendly disposition and a charming magnetism. Her arms sway lightly at her side as she walks up and down the aisle, leaving her cart momentarily to go to the other end of the aisle and come back with something else to add to her cart. As she walks and her arms sway gently in the stale air of the old grocery store her fingertips ever so lightly graze her neatly pressed outfit, barely caressing the fabric.

Upon her return to her big empty house, she opens the door and starts her daily cleaning and straightening up of her already spotless house. First, she checks her messages on the telephone, several are from neighbor ladies whoa re calling about lunch that afternoon. Some for her husband to return when he is home from work, and a couple from the school reminding her of events that may be coming up with PTA, sports practice and ballet. She begins gathering all the dirty clothes in the house, from her daughters dress from yesterday to her husbands towels on the bathroom floor. As she waits for the laundry to dry she can always be found in the den reading up on the latest issue of Cosmo...maybe that's how her marriage is so perfect..ha ha... and she sips a cold ice tea and reads as her clothes finish up. I could and do most days watch her every move and I am never able to find myself bored at anything... just watching her read is soothing

By the noon hour when the sun is highest in the sky, three or four of the neighborhood ladies come over to the house for sandwiches and tea on the balcony or patio. They all swap their stories of how baseball games went , how the kids are in school, and when the next ballet recital is. All the ladies look the same in appearance, and have the same prim and proper lifestyle but it is these lunches that bring them together in a bond where they are not under restriction, they are able to talk and discuss everything from their marriage and kids to politics and the news. This woman I speak of sits quietly amongst all the banter of her friends and I can see a look in her eyes which tells me she knows she is finally where she belongs. She chose to leave behind a life where her family was engulfed in substance abuse and poverty and she instead chose to find comfort inside her isolated glass box on Mulberry Lane. She opted for the suburban world where her children could play without the shots of gunfire echoing in the night, without the spread of drugs interfering, she chose to live in a world, a different world behind the iron gates which read Pleasantville Estates, with small yards, SUVs and a picket fence lined with rosebushes

After lunch the giggles and laughter of her dear friends burst out the front door and they return to their own washers and dryers and their own houses and mouths to feed supper... the bus will be coming shortly and she anticipates the tornado of children playing as the large yellow ship pulls in front of her house carrying her two most precious gifts from God. Upon their entrance into the house, as always, and just as expected from children, coats and book bags find themselves thrown on the floor and the echo of tiny feet running to the kitchen is heard all the way until after school snacks are gobbled into their mouths. The woman smiles and sighs, a happy sigh, as she goes behind her small children and puts the coats in the closet and the book bags in the den where she will help them with math and reading later in the evening.

The afternoons consist of fidgeting children in the den and their mother trying to get math done and reading learned and spelling words memorized. There are sports practices to go to, scouts meetings to attend, and dance lessons to be taken to. On any given day this woman works more than most working moms work... she has no set 9-5 job and yet in her eyes I can tell she loves every moment of it... this is the life she worked so hard for. The life she always dreamed of and it is exactly how she pictured it. As the sun is going down and the kids are in the family room watching cartoons, or playing outside with the neighbor kids this woman gets dinner ready and on the table, and in comes the loving husband she would give her life for

After dinner the family can be found doing many things. The father plays catch in the front yard with his son and pushes his daughter on the tire swing hanging from the tree. This woman sits on the porch with something in her hand. The porch light in on so that she can watch her kids play with their daddy and she looks down at the thing that she is holding and suddenly I look down at my own hands, there in my hand is a picture of the love of my life, the one who introduced me to this world, the world this woman is living, the world I want so much to be a part of. His handsome face suddenly resembles the face of the man in the woman's yard smiling at her with dimples and a boyish grin. He chases the dog and his children in a childlike way.... and like I always do I get up on my feet from my spot in the grass and venture to the other side, I open the fence gate and walk up the path...the woman seems to be watching everything, but looking right through me. With this picture in my hand, and tears streaming down my face I climb the stairs to sit next to her. She does not notice me sobbing next to her.

And in her hand, she clasps the same photo I have. The same identical man I love so much is her husband, and instantaneously I realize I admire this woman and her life so much because this is the woman I am...I am this woman and she is my dream and I can see her life because it is my life, in the future... I will be her someday. But for now I am merely a ghost of her past, a girl she used to know who only dreams of the life she has...she looks up at me, as though she is looking at the stars in the deep dark blue sky and she smiles. She holds the picture to her chest, and I do the same, and though she may not see me, we smile to each other through our tears... dreams really do come true, she is the proof, she is my dream.

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