An alley off of a street called Ontario
There had been an uneasy feeling from the start.
Maybe because it all moved so fast, and was built on secrets and lies.
But that uneasy feeling was overshadowed by excitement.
As red, black, and white sneakers slapped the pavement, bathing in the mid-afternoon sun, a mixture of excitement and unease bubbled. There’s supposed to be tacos tonight.
I’ll see you at seven, but...
There are delays, jokes about turning back, more delays, and then the devastation.
I used to love the storms, but not that night.
Panic, breathe, phone call, screams, “you’re fine, I’m here”, screaming, hate, bitch, “Hey”, crying, breathe, shaking, delays, I want to go home, lies, screaming, “I’m here”.
The storm passes, but it leaves the chaos and the devastation stays.
There is sleep. I don’t even remember the take off.
3am. No trains. There was supposed to be a train. There is, however, a bus.
A foreign land, and a bus.
The streets are still glistening, and the air is misty. There was supposed to be a stop, but I panicked and made my own.
And now there’s me. And the people sleeping quietly under a neon bar sign.
Because the universe is funny like that.
The Lyft driver is a block away, because I’m lost and the storm has knocked out my reception. Or maybe because I'm new here, and my phone is just as lost as I am.
Or maybe the universe is just being funny.
Charles, despite his picture, isn’t creepy. He’s helpful and even comes searching for me, using words I’ve never known. Dearborn.
His car smells like curry, and he raves about this special foreign land. How people come here when they’re lost, but also when they’re looking for something. Wanderlust.
I’m currently lost, and I have no idea what it is I thought I was looking for anymore.
My hotel is neon pink and lonely. I’m drained, and there is more crying and pleading.
Sleep comes after begging not to be alone.
And then there’s morning. Nine twenty eight.
I’m alone. But not for long.
I beg for silence. Just 30hrs of silence. No screaming. No hate.
A lifeless sparrow keeps me company.
In hindsight I will see that I am that sparrow. An omen, will you. Stiff and lifeless,with nowhere to go.
I will always remember that sparrow.
It’s time. Socks shuffle against the carpeted hallways. A ding of the elevator, and then planted in the lobby.
Shorter than I expected. Surfacing from an alley off of a street called Ontario.Perhaps the same alley from which my sparrow came.
Goofy and gangly, despite being stocky and solid. There is a warmth in this embrace. A sort of, “finally”
The rest is mine. Ours if you even want it.
Memories engraved in the soul for eternity. I would soon learn that that hope you have a blessing and a curse. To want to remember always, but to need to forget and heal.
There is happiness that shines among all the devastation; and I know it's not fair, but I am not in control.
The universe did this. And it's not funny at all.
There are walks, and down foam made from memories. A cat, and skin. Periwinkle, and stories. A Park you're excited to show me.
There is apprehension. Words and actions I wish I could take back; as well as those I wish I would have expressed.
There are lights. Colors. Vibes. Music.
A long train ride. Holding on to what's left.
"Thank you. For everything."
Eyes that do not meet. A hug while staring at the concrete.
Hands that don't want to separate; That slowly slip from each other's grasp, until the tips of the fingers lightly brush past. The last touch.
"I know that look" the observant one teases. "Get on the bus with her. You can ride back for free."
You decline. And I'm grateful.
Because the tears are already dropping.
You come back. But I'm crying. I don't see you.
In hindsight this should've been the end. I know now that it's only gets worse. Harder. More chaos. More devastation.
I see that that sparrow was indeed an omen.
The universe is cosmic, but it is not comical.
It's pretty fucking cruel.
