Our Regular Darkness
Over Chicago's river, under explosions in the sky, we stumbled on the street in the first five minutes of a brand-new year. State Street crowded, fireworks crashing against the low-hanging sky lighting our regular darkness with an assortment of colors. All the people captured, standing below a magnificent hue, linked arm in arm with a loved one. I remarked how I'd not seen this many people since the Cubs won the Series three years prior, and you joked about how I always find a way to fit that in. We walked the asphalt towards the platform, hoping for a train not too saturated, hoping for a train not too full. We were loose, cold in our confinement, but warm in our contact. I said it was brisk, and you said it was brick.
The train rushed past us, forcing cold air through our bodies; you shivered as you always do when you're cold, your teeth chattering, and you wore a nose so red that you looked like Rudolph. The car paused, and the doors opened. We faced them first as a sea of souls followed in behind us. We filled the farthest spaces, as any rider should do. We found a seat near the egress doors leading to the coupling connecting one car to the next. A homeless man sat next to us. One could assume he knew the date and time, but maybe he did not.
Where was he going? On a night like this? Who's to know? After all, he might not even know exactly. All the riders gave him a wide berth and dared not to look in his direction. I watched you walk straight up to him, looking him directly in the eyes and saying, "Happy New Year." He returned the phrase, half stunned that someone paid him any mind, let alone someone as pretty as you. You then asked him how his night was going, and his response was inaudible as I was too far to hear it. I watched as your lips moved, and you both entered into conversation. Initially I was dumbfounded as to why you were speaking to him. I was surprised at your willingness; I was taken aback by your lack of judgment concerning our homeless friend, and your willingness to engage projected a lightness of sunshine underneath the drawl of fluorescent bulbs. All the other riders were oblivious to your brightness, but I saw it. I saw you, and while confounded at first, I knew that that's the who of who you are.
I still carry this moment with me, however distant and how long ago it feels. You showed me that a person has a soul, a soul to be respected and cherished no matter how low down they may appear. This one memory overshadows the moments we spent in acrimony. This memory I have of you on a train in The Land. You'll always be that girl who tried to make one person feel seen on a holiday. It was like you were trying to set the tone for his entire year. He could no longer say that nobody gave a shit about him because, for one solitary moment, solidified in time, you did. I hope you're still befriending those less fortunate and shining your brightness on those still in the dark.
—
I think some of them may smoke in the hopes they die sooner. Sometimes, I think they might live forever, especially those more heinous. Don't ask me why; the phrase, "Only the good die young," predates my birth. I fear for a few I have in mind; I'm not sure they can make it until tomorrow. There’s a few I find redeeming, however aloof and far away they may seem. I involved myself in this conglomerate because I felt I may be able to help. I am finding now that I can only aid in their immediate wounds. I can only dress the minor scrapes and burns. There is no way to reach them; some are gone completely, lacking the necessary care. I've come to terms; I've accepted the fact that I am only an intermediary, an aid only needed immediately and then gone, gone in the preceding moment. I think it's a lot like love. I think it's a lot like relationships in that the subject who wants less is always the driver of momentum.
You can feel what you wish, but obligations are only taken on by those who choose them, and love, it is the largest of obligations. Love is a burden borne in moments of misallocation. It is a nasty condition that demands your attention regardless of reciprocation, regardless of whether or not the price is worth the cost—a curse, a curse unbecoming. I've been bleeding rivers dry, affirming my worst fears and then some. A person can downplay their emotions, but seldom can they play them up. It's a natural inclination like indulging in a new hobby. Call it what you want. These feelings have been felt before, long before my birth.
