quickly and unceremoniously, we are spit out from the artificial fluorescence of the building and into the darkness of the early night. i feel reborn, in a sense, but perhaps in reverse: delivered suddenly into an amniotic twilight, both comfortable and vast. in the corner of my eye, a tear wells up. i peer through it like a prism, its crystalline wetness swirling the yellow of the streetlights with the muted colors of the cityscape around me. i blink the tears away, but the swirl remains: a kaleidoscope of urbanity in motion, pulsing with the liveliness of downtown at dusk. i swallow, and i feel my ears pop.
moments before, we completed a prodigious descent. 50 flights downward in a matter of seconds; two stationery bodies in rapid motion. everywhere i turned, i saw myself: a familiar stranger ever present in the unrelenting angles of the fully mirrored walls. i didn’t mind. i watched as blood crawled underneath my skin, creating its own swirl of reds and blues deep within my pores. it fascinated me and the wide-eyed girl in the reflection, unassuming yet furiously alive.
on the sidewalk in front of the high rise, i take a breath and unclench my jaw. the air is cold and smells like everything. at this point in the night, i am not especially high, but i am most certainly not tired. my eyes linger on my companion. i take note of the little plastic buttons on his shirt, the brunette curl flopping gently against his cheek as he talks. he is proposing a stroll by the river, and i am giddy with agreement. our clumsy legs promptly follow our commands and, as we begin to walk, the next branch of our journey begins: a postscript to the preceding events of the evening, a side quest bequeathed to us by the meandering impulses of our come-down. i stuff my hands into my pockets and absentmindedly fish around amidst old receipts, lint balls, and—serendipitously—the golden ticket to Keeping These Good Vibes Going, half-smoked and kept intact inside its smooth cylindrical case. we spark up without hesitation, puffing as we walk.
the dark, wet shimmer of the city is beautiful. reds and greens come streaming down from the traffic lights like christmas-colored tears of illustrious angels perched above us, signaling for motion—then pause—then motion again. everything glimmers. inside my body, my heart pumps a steady beat. i feel blood rushing outwards to my extremities and circulating back through each of my limbs. as i move through the world, things flow inside of me.
WONDER. i spot the familiar tag beside me. its telltale portrait sits above the letters, a little white halo and wings calling out brightly from the darkness. i marvel at the speckles of the spray paint on the concrete. wonder. the word sits with me for a moment. i feel it buzzing in the back of my head, finding shape on my heavy tongue. i take another hit of the joint.
“is that weed?”
the query does not come from the graffiti angel, but a man stretched out beside it, leaning up against the wall. instinctively, i freeze. i am comfortable and limitless and confident enough to be partaking in substances out in the open but now, i am also stoned, and thus i am easily made nervous. the man seems harmless and untroubled, however, and so i nod, and extend the pot to him in offering. the three of us stand there for a while, smoking silently. i feel myself start to smile: i don’t know this man, but i am pleased to be in communion with him. drugs are very neighborly, in that sense. one of the great universal connectors.
“is this legal?” the stranger asks, voice bellowing out from the silence. i blink at him, then nod again.
“yeah,” my boyfriend agrees. “weed’s legal. here, at least. in illinois.”
“illinois,” the man echoes. i nod again, unsure what exactly he is asking. i wonder what brought him here. i don’t think to ask his name.
after a short while, my partner and i depart. “have a good one,” i offer. i feel as though i haven’t spoken in ages.
we continue onward. i am dazzled by the glistening of the raindrops on the concrete, and the complementary rippling of the water below us. i love the rain. i love the river. i love water. of course i do: i’m alive. all i am is water, in a constant state of flow, temporarily taking on the shape of my body. me, the boy beside me, the stranger we encountered, the pigeons fluttering by, the plant packed into our joint, the worms beneath our feet: all but vessels for this beautiful, wet, life-giving stuff. another universal connector, even more lovely and ubiquitous than illicit substances. all of us who breathe are made neighbors by virtue of the water within us.
along the river’s edge, we continue to saunter and chat. mostly, we gaze around us, taking in all the wonders of the night. it’s busy here. people play music on their speakers, swaying and shaking along. when we get close enough, the bass reverberates through my bones, an external parallel to the thundering of my heartbeat. look at all of these joyous vessels, i think to myself. it’s very marvelous to be alive.
soon, we reach the outskirts of the bustling cacophony, leaving the riverwalk and its flourishing of human excitement behind us. we are nearing the train; it’s time to make our way back home.
my footsteps echo on the wet cement of the stairs as we plunge downwards once again. we become partially illuminated under the flickering of subway lights. it is quiet here, but for the yowls of a lone man on the other side of the platform, calling out desperately to something indecipherable. my boyfriend is warm: i lean into him, relishing in the comfort of his heat, his softness. there is an image on the wall opposite us, splattered on the other side of the tracks. i am staring at it: i watch as its edges dance subtly, its highlights and shadows slowly morphing about as the lightbulb above us continues to rhythmically flash. it is a portrait of a herd of classic, cartoonish-looking aliens, with skinny bodies, large eyes, and lopsided ovals for heads. they gaze back at me: not quite menacing, just standing and leering over the rail as we breathe together in time. no, no–wait. it isn’t aliens. i was wrong. it isn’t anything at all. it’s just stains on the wall of the subway stop, random splotches of discoloration for which i mistakenly ascribed intention. although, it really looks like aliens. their ovoid heads remain clear in front of me. maybe it is artwork? i am slightly dizzy, and i truly cannot tell. i look to the boy on my arm for answers. he kisses my forehead as the train arrives, rolling to a shuddering stop. a gust of artificial wind blows my hair back as a warm shiver moves down my spine. we board the train. it finds motion again, and as we depart, the grayish imprints of possible alien faces melt away into eloquent nothingness.
after 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 stops, we exit the train and prepare to part ways. i am blushing and doe-eyed as we embrace. our fingertips linger against one another’s. my nerves feel electric. he whispers that he loves me and i know that it is true because i feel it dancing on my skin as i make my way down the sidewalk, walking home in the afterglow.
the birds have begun their morning calls, though the sun has not yet risen. my breath is a cool respite that crawls into my lungs through my nose and out through my mouth. i look around me: the streets are nearly empty. up above, a few brilliant stars are visible over the streetlights of the city, their twinkling lights reaching down millions of millions of miles. i stare up at them for a moment, bearing witness. i am grateful that they have taken the time to burn.
happily, i continue to walk, passing quiet homes and silent storefronts. as i traverse a crosswalk, i see it before me again: WONDER. that little white angel, acutely scrawled on a windowpane. whoever this artist is, they’ve made their mark in a few different neighborhoods, littering this guardian figure all across downtown and the north west side. i’m pleased to see it again: there is comfort in continuity; solace in a pattern, however insignificant. i like street art. it’s a pleasant thing, having alleys and corners adorned by decorative graffiti. a sort of beautification ritual that offers something enchanting t—
FUCK!
i’m toppled. the wind is knocked out of me, and i gasp for air that is out of my reach. i wiggle my fingers and gravel peels off of my palms. i feel hazy, confused. i stretch my legs out and look upward.
“fuck!” a voice calls out from the window of a sedan, slowing but not stopped. “fuck, i’m sorry! are you okay?”
i stand up slowly, but without much hassle. i am a human being in a human body. i call out to my nerves, asking for a status report. no answer comes. there is a ringing in my ears, but no pain to take note of. i am standing up on my own. i am shaken, but do not appear to be bleeding. wordlessly, i reach out my hand and form a thumbs up.
“thank god,” the man in the car mutters. “sorry about that!” he drives onward, disappearing into the darkness of the early morning.
i look down at myself, blinking. i wipe away more bits of gravel from my untorn skin. a pigeon coos in the distance. i stand under the soft glow of the streetlights, alone.
this was incredibly beautifully written
is this an older memory or did you get hit by a car AGAIN?