On October 8th, I watched her sitting on her bench on the Southeast corner of 14th and Sunset Boulevard eating a spinach-covered pizza slice and watching the people going by. I watched her for a long time, sitting still on the bench while the salty California breeze rustled in her thick blonde waves and moved through her oversized striped sweater. She finished her pizza and pulled out a tattered book. It was dark blue with silver lettering on the cover that I couldn’t quite make out. She opened it to her marked page and her shoulders lifted with her heavy inhale of the scent of the pages. A warm smile crossed her face as she began to read. She read for a long time, turning each page with delicate care, and finished the book relatively quickly.

I had watched Jason Pallas at this spot for weeks from a chair near my dining room window in my upstairs apartment. The first time I saw Jason she was shelving books at Pallas Book Emporium. I asked her where the restroom was (they didn’t have one) and that is the only time we have spoken. I’ve admired her ever since. Sometimes I’ll go back to that bookstore and pretend to be lost in the middle of some novel I pick off the shelf while I listen to her talk with the customers. Sometimes I would glance up to see her beautiful smile crinkle her eyes and lift the single mole beneath her right eye.

I discovered her spot on the bench outside my window about a month ago. Most times she would be reading. Sometimes she would sit still and quiet, watching the people and listening to the birds. Others she would have earphones in and sing along – or just mouth the words, I couldn’t really tell from three stories above. Sometimes she would write or draw in a journal. She studied quite often – from a business textbook. I assumed she planned to take over management at the little café that was her weekend job. Sometimes I would go there too, if she was working.

Every night after she read or wrote or people-watched at her special spot, I watched her walk home to her apartment above the bookstore down the road. I always had to be sure she was safe.

On that day in October, she had been sitting on her bench for maybe an hour, and I had been watching her from my window through slanted blinds for the same time, when a piercing shriek nearly shattered the glass. A dark blue SUV speeding down Sunset Boulevard had blasted through a red light, and two smaller cars had swerved to avoid it, crashing loudly into each other and pushing an oncoming convertible into the corner store across the street. I heard Jason’s beautiful voice scream in terror. There was a fire in the first car’s engine threatening to combust at any moment. When it did, chunks of metal and rubber flew all around the intersection. Jason ran to the wreckage. I heard her shriek again, before she pulled out her cell phone to call 911.

I watched her pace around the wreckage, sobbing and shouting, when the police and medics arrived. She talked to each of them so emotionally. She threw her arms around in explanation of the events. I watched her stay with the injured and cry over the lost, and sit around waiting until all the wreckage had been cleared. That night walking back to her apartment was the last time I saw Jason at the corner of 14th and Sunset Boulevard.