A plane had arrived. Fifty or so girls returning from a holiday. The group belonged to an educational institution; they were all borders at St. Gregory Girls Tertiary College. The house I had moved into was across from the institution. I had a clear view of the entire dormitory block. For some reason, the idea of watching through binoculars like a pervert did not cross my mind. In fact, the whole concept that I was living near a building full of women did not trigger any perverse thoughts what so ever. The thing that did get my full attention though was the fact that, in the envoy of returned arrivals, was one Sharon Baczynski. Sharon was my high school love; I fell so in love with her, I swore that if I ever saw her again, I'd ask her to marry me. However, we did not part on good terms back then, and save for the embarrassment, I'll not tell you the history of it. Suffice to say, I was unsure of how Sharon would greet me. 
	I remember, back in the day, how I used to run to greet her at every lunch interval. I remember how I used to ride home with her on the bus. I remember the chocolates, the flowers, the little gifts I always used to buy her. Her smile always made me happy. I was absorbed by everything about her; her character, her sweet laughter, her feminine voice, her scent, her amazing body. I loved her then, and I still love her to this day.
	When I found out that Sharon was merely a quadrangle away, I spent three hundred and fifty dollars on a high powered pair of binoculars. This set me back sufficiently to starve me for the following week, but I was prepared to stretch what I had left in the refrigerator. I sat at that window for hours, systematically checking each window. Most of the day was a rite off, and I spent only spare time looking. It was at night that my roving eyes were most active. It was a crazy dash to watch each window, checking for the familiar face I hoped I'd recognize after six years. Had she changed her characteristic hair style, or had she become an avid user of makeup products, I may have had trouble locating her. After four nights of squinting in vein, I had almost decided that my source had been wrong about Sharon's residence in the building. But on the fourth night, I swung my binoculars to a particular window which, up until now, had not been terribly active. It was on the second to top floor. I increased the focal length to the maximum, and sure enough, there she was, in pink flannel pyjamas. I watched her float about the room. Once again, I was entranced by her form. She was walking from one side of the room to another, transporting various items here and there. Another girl entered the room, wearing only a towel. Her long black hair was soaking wet. She disappeared from view, and then returned with a hair dryer. She plugged it in to an outlet near the door, and began waving it in front of her long tresses. Sharon was talking to her, wandering around about the room in a graceful circle. Her hand expressions signaled that she was perplexed. I watched, enthralled in the fact that this was the same girl I had idolized as a teenager; the same girl that I had adored so much. I loved her every motion; soft, gentle, tender. I reminisced how it used to be. Her words came back to me; "You are sweet, but I simply don't love you." It echoed in my mind; "Simply don't love you." I felt a lump in my throat. There she was; the girl that had torn my heart into a thousand pieces, yet I still desired her just as I had back then. 
	The black-haired girl unplugged the hair dryer and disappeared once again. She returned with silk pyjamas on, and got into bed. Sharon disappeared for a time. She returned, still motioning with her hands, mouth moving with the effort of a convincing argument. She stood by the light switch. With a shrug of the shoulders and what I could lip read as an, "Oh well," the room went black.

	I sat in my car, waiting. It was Sunday, they were sure to leave the campus. The huge doors opened. I lifted the 400 mm lens, finger ready on the shutter release. Two girls descended the front stairs on their toes. Sharon was not one. I lowered the Nikon. Ice Cube's, "Check Yo'self" was quietly pulsing through the speakers in the car door. I sat and dreamed. Dreamed of an ideal. Dreamed of living the rest of my life with Sharon. I waited. An hour passed. The tape clicked over. The huge doors to the institution opened for what seemed like the hundredth time, and there she was. She was racing down the stairs. It looked as though she was in a hurry. I raised the camera, and let fly with the motor drive. Film whizzed through the camera. I watched through strobed eyes, as Sharon got into a small red Pulsar. I lowered the camera, revved up the motor and eased off the clutch. She turned onto the main road. Keeping a two car distance between us, I followed the red tail of the Pulsar. The pursuit became absorbing - I was an undercover cop, tailing a key suspect in a complex case involving blackmail, drugs, and big men in black jackets. 
	She slid into a vacant park. I did a U-Turn, and parked on the opposite side of the road. I watched her enter the bank. I waited. She left the bank and continued on to a small cake shop. I got out of the car. Hiding out in a snack bar with a cup of coffee and a doughnut, I sat and watched through the window. Legs crossed, she basked in the sun, eating jam and scones. It wasn't long before a man approached. She looked up and smiled. Smiling back at her, he sat down. In friendly greeting, she leaned near him and whispered in his ear. He laughed, and put his arm around her. She slid her hand down his inner thigh, and they touched lips for a moment. I put my head in my hands. I expelled a deep sigh. I stared at my half eaten doughnut. I smelled the coffee, and it smelled of hate. I was shocked. I hadn't even considered that she may have a lover? I was lost in conflicting feelings of love and hate. I feel that I could never hate Sharon; I immediately took the hate I felt toward her for seeing this man, and I turned it toward him. It was his fault. He had sucked her in; seduced her into going out with him. I looked up from my sorrow, and they were gone. 

	I held the face two inches below the surface, rocking it ever so gently. The eager, rushed form of three hours earlier came back to me. Now I knew what was behind those flustered eyes; him. I lifted the paper out of the water, and attached it to the white cord suspended over head. 
	Click. The red turned to penetrating white. Squinting, her face came into focus; true clarity. I stood, gazing into her eyes; but they were cold. They did not hold the warmth they once did. I had seen that warmth earlier that day; when she was with him. With a sigh, I turned away from the image, lumped myself in my favourite TV chair, and blotted out completely.

	Like a jack hammer, the piercing noise of a telephone yanked me from the deepest realms of sleep. With no mercy, it recurred. Brrrrrrr! Brrrrrrr! Dazed, I raised my head. Massaging my forehead, I lifted the receiver.
	"Hello," I slurred.
	"Stanwick, where in living hell are you!? You can't be sick today, we've got a board meeting, and you have to be there!" The harsh voice of William Arnold shook my brain. William was my boss. I gazed at the clock. I was an hour late for work.
	"Sorry Mr. Arnold, my alarm clock didn't activate. I'll be right there."
	Racily, I jumped into my suit and tie outfit. The hard leather shoes. I raced down the stairs, out into the sunshine. I pulled open the car door and sank into the drivers seat. Securing the belt, I looked up to confront the road ahead. That's when I saw the black haired girl; Sharon's room mate. I undid the belt and raced out of the car.
	"Excuse me."
	"Hmm?" she said turning to me.
	"Uh, do you know Sharon Baczynski?"
	"She's my room mate. Why?"
	"Well, she's an old friend of mine."
	A wide smile filled her face. "Oh, who are you?"
	"Brenton..."
	"Uh Oh!" she interrupted. Her smile turned to a cold frown.
	"Uh Oh? What do you mean 'Uh Oh'?" She looked me up and down, then turned and walked away. Something was going on here. This girl had obviously heard about me. A flush went through my body, I was suddenly filled with excitement. I followed her.
	"What do you mean 'Uh Oh'!?" I repeated. She abruptly turned around.
	"Brenton Stanwick?"
	"Yeah."
	"I'm saying nothing. I'm not going to stick my nose where it's not wanted." She continued to walk up the street.
	"But wait! Couldn't you just tell me how she is? I just want to know how she's doing. What has she said about me?" 
	"Sharon's fine, now leave me alone."
	"But wait! Can I buy you lunch? I'd really like to find out more about how Sharon's doing."
	She stopped. 
	"Alright, listen. I know you loved her, but I know she would definitely not want to see you, so don't expect some big reunion or anything. She's got over you. She really doesn't need to see you in a hurry."
	I paused to take it all in. "Got over me?"

	The girl tossed her hair over her shoulder, and looked at me. 
	"So, you're Brenton Stanwick." 
	I shrugged. "Yeah? What's she said about me? And what do you mean by 'She's got over me'?" I queried, with a mouth full of raisin toast.
	"Well, from what I can gather together; you loved her, she hated you. You pursued her, she freaked out. You put her through hell. She thought you were obsessed, and would come after her with a gun, offering a marriage or death ultimatum. You don't know the half of it. She received counseling over you, and now she is able to have a relationship; and she does."
	"Who with?" I asked, letting the accusation of me putting Sharon through hell out the other ear.
	"Some guy called Roger, and if you start rolling up on the scene, imagine what that could do to her?" The problem was, I couldn't imagine what that could do to her. I couldn't see Sharon's side of the story, and I had no idea what she had gone through. I continued to question Anthea about Sharon. By the time we'd finished our discussion, I had once again fallen in love with Sharon, but had more of an understanding of why she had rejected me. I stood up, stretched, and went to the counter. From behind, I heard Anthea,
	"Please, Brenton, don't open old wounds for Sharon."
I stared at her for a moment, then turned away. I looked at my watch. Hell, Arnold would have my balls in a frying pan. I jumped in the car and raced off towards the ASI building where I worked.
	Dashing through corridors, I found my office. The board meeting was in five minutes. I dumped my things and raced off towards the board room. I found Mr. Arnold chasing after me.
	"Are you insane, man! Where have you been, for Christ's sake!? I've called your house a hundred times! What the hell do you think you're doing!?" I hit the door to the board room, apologized to Mr. Arnold, and we both sat down in our chairs. The meeting promptly began. After the meeting, however, Arnold showed me his office. He sat me down, and proceeded to tell me how his company did not allow its employees to "stuff him around", and if I ever did anything like that again, I'd be out. I had a quiet ride home that day. I pondered over what Anthea had said. As I sat behind my binoculars that night, waiting for Sharon to come into view, I thought about those years at high school from Sharon's point of view. Even assuming Sharon was perfectly sane all that time, I must admit that my pursuit of her was a little...invading, I guess. Frightening? Intrusive? Hounding? Tormenting? I don't know. It didn't seem any of these back then. But I certainly was persistent. I read about a guy, once, who got a girl to go out with him by following her wherever she went, so that in the end, she went out with him just to get rid of him, but actually fell in love with the guy after the first date. It didn't work for me.
	I looked down at the street. A cur pulled up. Sharon got out. Roger got out. Like thieves, stalking a house, they raced up to the huge doors. I could hear him make a grunting sound. He grabbed her behind, and she started giggling. They disappeared into the building. I looked through the binoculars at Sharon's window. After a moment, the lights went on, and they both entered the room. Roger immediately began to push the two beds together; it was painfully obvious what they were up to. Sharon disappeared out of view for a moment. When she returned, she sat on the bed next to Roger. They began kissing. Long, hard, deep kisses. I dropped my head. I couldn't watch. I turned away, and collapsed in a chair. Although I don't drink, I felt that now was a good time to get off my nut. I snatched up the keys, and went directly to the pub. Inexperienced in ordering alcoholic drinks, I asked for something that would knock the sense out of me. I drank about a dozen, and felt fine. Then I went to get up, and my legs refused to follow. Flat on the floor, I bore the brunt of raucous laughter and snide comments. All of a sudden I felt a throbbing in my head. I now knew what it felt like to be wasted. I pulled myself up, and wavered out the door. I knew it was wrong to drink and drive, but I was too depressed to give a damn. At that very moment, that son of a bitch was in bed with the woman I had coveted for so long. He was living the fantasy I had dreamed for over ten years. I began to hate him so much. I took the back streets home and didn't get picked up. I was so angry, and under the influence of alcohol, smashing the guy's head in seemed perfectly viable. I don't know the thought process that led up to it, but I found myself sitting behind a bush near Roger's car. I waited. At around two in the morning, Roger came out of the building, whistling and jingling his keys. In a pathetic bout of energy, I flung myself on him. I swung this way and that. I didn't know what I was doing, but I must have got lucky and hit him square in the jaw. He fell. Muttering something about "I'll teach you to mess with my Sharon," I landed a full thrusted Nike in his face. Then I staggered off home.

	The telephone blasted me awake once again. My head felt like it was ready to burst open, and my brain would ooze out onto the pillow. I slid out of bed and wormed my way across the carpet. Pulling the phone off the hook, it fell and landed on my head. Pain sliced through my skull. Putting my mouth to the receiver, I mumbled, 
	"Hello?"
	"Stanwick!? You've done it this time! I'm not buying your hoarse, 'I'm so sick' voice at all. You're not going to stuff me around. Nobody messes with William Arnold! You may think you have so much to offer this company, but think again; the graveyard is full of people who, although dearly missed, have all been replaced! I don't need you. In fact, you're fired. I certainly hope you had a nice sleep-in today, because tomorrow, you'll be up nice and early to make a visit to the CES!" He slammed the phone down. I had lost my job.
	I wandered over to the window and picked up the binoculars.  There she was, outside. All these cars and people around the place; what the hell? I saw my opportunity to maybe get near her.
	Crossing the street, I had her in sight. I got closer, closer. I could almost smell her lovely scent, then the black haired bitch stopped me in my tracks.
	"She doesn't want to see you."
	"How do you know? I just want to talk to her."
	"I heard about what happened to Roger. I know you did it."
	"Why, what happened?"
	"Don't try to play me, Brenton. It doesn't take much to make the connection." The truth of the matter was, I had no idea what I'd done. I can remember doing something to the bastard, but what, I wasn't quite sure. I asked her again what had happened, half hoping he was in intensive care or something.
	"Somebody broke his bloody nose, that's what happened." I couldn't hold it back. I grinned like a Cheshire cat.
	"I knew it was you," Anthea said coldly. She turned her back on me. Sharon was gone.
	I entered the building. A buck toothed, straggely-haired receptionist looked up. "Canna help you?"
	I hesitated, and thinking realistically about what good it would do to get to her room; bugger all good, I just told her I was waiting for someone. I took a seat, and sat.
	Eventually Anthea walked past and asked, "What are you doing here? If you're waiting for Sharon, she's gone."
	"Where?"
	"Leave her alone."
	"Have you told her about me?"
	"No way, she'd start wearing bullet proof vests and hiring body guards!"
	"You must be kidding."
	"No," she said sincerely, "I'm not."
	I couldn't believe what I was hearing. What I had done was harmless. What could have led to this. I was just a shy kid who had a dream; a dream to hold a girl and say she was mine. I left the building, realizing that I could never be near her, never have her. I resigned myself to the fact that Sharon Baczynski was history.

	I spent the following weeks searching for work. It wasn't hard, I have a Masters degree in psychology. I used my knowledge of psychology to sort out what had gone wrong; why Sharon would become so paranoid, but I can't help thinking that the answer is only known by those with a doctorate in the field. Every time I got into my car from then on, I stalled for time; the process dragged out over minutes. I wanted to merely see her. If I couldn't have her, I could at least watch her. Unfortunately, that's how it had always been. I'd seen Roger with her since that night. I loved to see that bandage round his nose; but it came off sooner or later, and Sharon seemed to have forgotten. I invested in an 800 mm lens for the Nikon. I could see in her room as though I were floating outside her window on a magic carpet. Sure, I saw her naked, but I didn't care. That wasn't my main desire. I wanted more than to just watch her, I wanted to be part of her life; I wanted to make her happy, I wanted to share in her joy, her accomplishments, her disappointments, her times of depression. I wanted to be there to make things better.

	As I watched one night as she and Roger laughed and joked together, something inside me moved. I felt like crying out. I put my head in my hands and wept. I know I sound like a wimp, but if there's one thing that'll crumple a hard man, it's the love for a woman. I woke in the morning with a renewed vigour. I no longer cared if all the Anthea's in the world were against me, I was going to slowly but surely work my way into Sharon's heart. If only she had understood my intentions the first time around, then none of this would be necessary. I bought the biggest bunch of flowers my budget could manage, and sent them to her door with a card that read, "To Sharon, from your secret admirer." I couldn't expose myself immediately. 
	I sat behind the hi-speed motor drive of an F4 Nikon, and waited. She went to the door, and opened it. The frame filled with reds, yellows and blues. I saw the joy fill her face. The reel flew through the camera in quick bursts. Sharon's smile. Sharon reading the card. Sharon confused. Sharon's smile again. Anthea at the window staring back at me. Busted.

	Half past midnight, a knock at the door. Staring through black, the chain thudded as it tightened in the lock. Anthea, looking worse than Ozzie Ozborn with a hang over.
	"What up? You woke me."
	"You bastard. Let me in."
	"What do you want?"
	"Let me in. We need to talk." I unlatched the chain. The door sqeeked open. The figure strutted in, as I snapped on the lights. Blinded by the light, I felt the pain in the back of my eyeballs surge and then subside. When I recovered, she was seated bitchily in my TV chair. "I told you," she said cuttingly, "leave Sharon alone." 
	I had counted on her having not seen me from such a distance with the unaided eye. No chance.
	"Look, I just wanted to..." I didn't know what to say.
	"Listen, if you don't leave her alone, I'm calling the police."
	Her face was so hard and her voice so full of threat that I was genuinely afraid. All I could think was, "What a bitch!"
	"Listen, you don't know how much I love Sharon! Just stay out of this," I yelled at her.
	She looked about her at all the photographs on the wall; all of Sharon in that room. She stormed upstairs. I followed closely behind. I found her staring at the camera sitting in the window. "You're obsessed!" she cursed. "I'm getting out of here." She started for the door.
	"Oh no you don't!" I grabbed her by the arm. She lurched to a halt. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I wanted to settle this matter. This woman was destroying every hope I had of ever getting to Sharon, I had to put a stop to it. I looked sternly into her eyes. Now she was the one who was afraid.
	"If you dare call the police, I'll kill you point blank."
	"Don't you threaten me you son of a bitch. I'll press charges at the drop of a hat. You just watch yourself." That was the last straw. The audacity enraged me. I threw her against the wall. She  flinched with the pain. I smacked her across the face and yelled, "Just stay the hell out of my business!" She slumped onto the floor. Tears were streaming down her face. I realized what I had done. I opened the door, picked her up and carried her to the footpath. I went to my room, and fell on the bed. I had never thought I was the kind of person who would beat up a woman so savagely.

	I was woken the following morning by a loud knocking. I stumbled out of bed, and staggered over to the door. I opened it to find two police officers looking in at me. 
	"Good morning. I'm officer Donton. You're under arrest."
	My heart sank. There was nothing I could do. I was cuffed and put in the back seat of the Police car. I sat there with my head bowed. I knew what I was up for. As the engine started, I raised my head and gazed out the open window. There was Sharon, waiting at the bus stop. Our eyes met. She froze, I froze. We gazed into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was really only a few seconds. She smiled. 
	The car eased forward, and I watched Sharon disappear from view; the unknowing seed of this whole damn mess.