Relief

I’m not much of a sucker for fanning through memories — but there are a few that I don’t mind a visit. Whether because it seems so detached or that it has a life of its own. The foreignness can come as a relief sometimes.

This one comes as the freshman year of college right when the cold front came through. We had a pleasant enough view from the dorms, lines of faceless coming to and fro the library on the hill which, if you squint, you could make out the fountain entrance. Before the cold, with either a feeling of promise or that the paths around felt alive with all of the four-year ghosts walking through — whatever it was — so it was the last time things felt fresh enough to consider that perhaps, maybe, there’s something out there. And you could be a part of it.

But the cold comes, and the paths die down, and the people scatter, and you’re done with exams. The moneymaker student-loan government arms flex themselves for the commuters and now you’re in a winter wasteland, dorms vacant.

Amber evening lighting all lining the wide concrete striking through campus and it felt as the hamster wheel does: endless and nowhere, as all the buildings bled into the dark. Nowhere to run, none to find. Parking garages echo differently now. Nose starts running constantly now.

It was these winter nights that let you see the other side. Where it felt like everything you saw was a puppet play, and now the strings are severed, and you’re sitting at the abandoned piano staring out into darkness all around. Wondering if any of it was real, or if you’ll remember it when the next showing begins. Waiting for something to part the night sky and you start floating up.

Going up and down such spacious places, empty intersections judiciously flickering reds and greens, finding unlatched building entryways — one building had some skulls on display and now you know it was for this midnight. Just you, in this hall, and it’d seem fit to know that this building would never open again. You could walk the auditorium down the hall and start a new play for all of the souls resting, inviting.

And what was such emptiness turns full because everything melds into this shadow-world you’ve long since entered. Skateboard around and around and around because maybe if you did it enough you’ll find an exit, though it’s only to venture deeper. Until you start to enjoy it.

You’ll never feel as free as you do when you see all the strings severed. And if you switch up your sleep schedule, you’ll soon become the shadow town resident.

People become bodies, and buildings become hostage rooms to lock yourself in, and jackets numb everything. The warmth of an empty library floor is unmatched as the frost climbs up the window. Streetlights spanning endlessly if you look out. You can only hear your own breath.

These memories bring so much relief because of its underlying heartbeat: everything turns limp. No rush then, is there? Saunter the hamster wheels as you please.