How it was with men, Ding thought, depended on what they didn’t say, didn’t ask, didn’t do. The windows of his room he had flung wide open but the men sat in a small circle in a corner behind the house, beside the cement fence and much as he squirmed closer to the wall, much as he trained both sight and hearing, Ding had been locked out and the conversation that followed, the boy imagined as much as heard.
About the short--
Rear Window is the finished first draft furtively titled Only Son. I wanted to write a story about a boy who learns:
- The difference between looking and staring and seeing
- The inherent intimacy of living in close quarters with strangers