I’m sitting 1,415.7 kilometers away, in a city filled with 18 million people, at least 80 of them are in my immediate surrounding. I feel strangely alone.
The room has two yellow walls and two blue. The yellow walls make me want to dance, the blue inspire poetry. Why not dance to poetry? Have you tried dancing to a poem? Or wrote down a series of words that made you so happy that you literally got off the bed and did a little jig. Or found a sentence that rings so deep into your being that every time it enters the room your mind is, your hair stands up to show respect. Could you read it to me?
At the far left sits a man with a pretty face and strong jaw line, he’s talking loudly to catch my attention, but he caught it then lost it a whole hour ago. Do women desperately try to be noticed around you? Ever made eye contact with a girl on the opposite platform that has stayed with you longer than your actual relationships. Tell me a story of how you met a stranger and fell hopelessly in love overnight. Looking at a woman across the room, I wonder if you notice her laugh, her legs or her voice. If you and I found ourselves at a same bar, I’d probably talk really loudly. Hoping I’d catch your attention.
A friend sitting in front of me talks about an asshole that hurt her. He promised her forever and like most people who do, he took the word and invited an audience to laugh at it. She handed me two pieces of what was once one and begged for me to take it out of her sight. I wonder what heartbreak was like for you. Did it pinch? Sting? Stab? Was there a night you stayed up and promised your hands you will never force them to touch someone meaningful again? Apologized to your smile for how dependent you made it on someone else. Begged trust to come back home. I’d tell you what it did to me but that story is worn, love, that story is so old.
In the background, they’re playing Childish Gambino. I wonder if they’ve always played his music or it’s one of those things where I’m recognizing it because I’ve only recently discovered him. Music plays funny games with me, takes me back to people, to times, to places. Do songs do that to you? Is there one that reminds you of your sister? Of how your mother gave you the perfect childhood? Of a particular scenery that widened your eyes? There exists an artist that defines how lonely you felt at 17. An album with songs you know every word to. A song that has a sad story but an upbeat tune taught you life lessons. A singer’s voice that throws you into that one particular day in the month of December. There must be music you fell in love with so long ago that today if you were to hear it while walking by a cafe, you wouldn’t even recognize the tune. I wonder if these sound waves will ever hit my eardrums. would you play them for me?
I tell my friend to keep it together, that she needs to learn to stop allowing the things and people around her to affect her so much. I can’t help but think back to when I said the same thing to you. When did you first realize you were made of glass? Did it have to smash for you to notice? Was there a young boy that searched for a toy but never found it or a teenager convinced the world works overnight to be a miserable place. Did the things around you ever slowly get to you or worse, did you make them or let them. Do you feel like an adult chasing yourself?
Our drinks arrive, my company has ordered a Long Island Ice tea. “To forgetting” she laughs as she puts her glass in the air. “To forgetting indeed” I agree, pick my usual rum-n-coke up and our glasses clink. I take a long sip and allow the coke’s sweetness in my mouth to prepare me for sting of rum down my throat. Has alcohol ever helped you? Have you ever drowned your stomach to distract your mind? Set fire to your lungs to confuse your hearts smoke signals? Did you spend your college years like us all, running from one addiction to another? In a loud pub, filled with strangers singing along, united by a familiar song and momentary happiness. Sat around a tiny apartment sipping cheap liquor from a coffee mug with a few friends convinced they’ll be around forever. Who were these people? Will I ever meet them? Would the college version of you done half the things you do to me?
As we sat there, my friend tells me a story from when she was in 9th grade, how her then best friend and her sneaked into her mother’s closet and tried on heels. They dressed up and played adults. She tells me these stories because I wasn’t there to witness them, I’ve only known her two years. I’ve only known you one. Are there funny stories left for me to hear? Would you sneak out as a child and play games? How did you go to school every morning? Did you cry a lot? Would your mother call you by your first name or make you the same breakfast every morning. Which subjects did you like more than the others? Was there a t-shirt you could never let go of, a scar that you don’t have a story for, friends that always got you in trouble? The moment you discovered there was a world beyond your home, beyond your parents, there existed happiness outside of your own. How do I catch up with all of these things?
I hear the door open, I look back, a man walks in and I shit you not, for a minute I thought it was you. I shook my head, asked myself to behave. It doesn’t matter where I go, who I’m with or what I do. You’re a constant itch at the back of my throat, an upcoming deadline, an uneasy feeling, a child that needs care, a parent refusing to go to bed till you get home. My wandering mind always finds its way back to you. But I do not complain, rather this than nothing. I swear I know people who sleep next to each other less in love, sweetheart. I’ve been one of those people.
A few months ago, I took back with me your t-shirt that was the same shade of blue as these walls. I’m filled with yellow sunshine every time I hear your voice, and I swear, it puts 18 million people to shame.
Almost Like the Blues. 