In Brief

There were trees there once.

Untitled

Note: This was written last year, and I am constantly revising it and wondering if there is more to write. Also, everything on this blog is original writing, please be respectful. 

   I stepped outside to discover the unexpected smell of wood burning. The fragrant woodsmoke was out of place on an August evening and made the air all the more stifling and hot. Nevertheless, this was a familiar smell. Yes, it should have been accompanied by that sharp stinging that comes after breathing in the cold air-- but it would have to do. 

   Home. This was it now. For a while at least. I was becoming accustomed to the sounds of the condo, the dogs barking in the neighborhood, the occasional obnoxious bass from the tenants downstairs, cars starting, and doors shutting. The train. How did I forget the train?

   Perhaps the one downfall of my beautiful building was that it sat directly next to a train track. I could look out my window and watch them glide by, blowing their whistles and rattling my place. Up on the third floor that meant that we could actually feel the movement. My bed shook, the centerpiece on the dining room table sent its crystals dancing whenever a particularly fast-moving or heavy-laden train slid past on its track on the other side of our own little sea of kudzu.

   My concentration was broken by the arrival of an SUV with loud music that only parked for a moment before moving on, and then the blow of the train's whistle brought me back. Far off, I anticipated how long it would take before it reached me with its racket. I considered whether going back inside was a good idea in hopes of missing the ear-splitting blow that was inevitable on the balcony. 

   In a moment of indecision or just my laziness, unwillingness to move took over. I liked the hot air and the sound of cicadas,  the sounds of cars in the street as they passed my little corner. I liked my newly purchased lights strung on the balcony railing and sitting in the dim light they provided. And still the train didn't come. Maybe it was further away on another track. Or maybe I even imagined the sounds of trains now. 

   Or maybe...

   Maybe the train wasn't my apartment's biggest downfall. It did give it...well, character, I suppose. And it hadn't yet really begun to bother me. Otherwise I was in a great place, a great neighborhood, much nicer  than I would have ever thought would be my first place after college. No, I was pretty sure its biggest downfall wasn't its proximity to the train but its distance from a what-if, its certain commitment to right here, lease term of twelve months, when my heart pulled every once in a while to ask my brain why I had driven east instead of west. 

   I had left my cell phone inside on the coffee table. Accidentally on purpose. Why did I try to fool myself with fake nonchalance? With a sigh, I inwardly confessed the truth. I came outside precisely to listen to all those other sounds. The cicadas, train whistles, neighborhood dogs-- all because I didn't want to wait to hear the chime of a text message that I was pretty sure wouldn't come. I didn't really blame myself for it. A month ago, I felt like a puppy, constantly keeping the phone close in case he decided to text, or even -- actually call. Missing a call would have been truly tragic. But after a long silence and then sudden resurfacing, I was angry at myself for sending that text and refused to sit around waiting for a response to it. 

  Looking up, I realized that the crescent of the moon had sunk lower in the sky and was now just visible between the trees and the water tower. How long had I been sitting there? I had no clue. I picked absentmindedly at the polish on my toenail. The moon sank lower.

   Whether I was waiting inside or outside, next to or away from the phone, I was still waiting. That became abundantly clear. I felt like a coward sitting outside listening to cicadas and watching the moon sink all in an attempt to avoid the moment when I would look at the phone and see the time there instead of "1 new message."

   I was being held hostage by my phone and starting to sweat a little in the muggy evening. How silly this must seem to anyone who could peek into my head. How silly it seemed to me. Still, I was strangely satisfied by this humid southern night, and as my limbs felt heavier from the heat, I resigned myself to the silliness of my situation. 

  I walked back inside, past the coffeetable without a downward glance, and into my room to get ready for bed. As I turned off the light and settled onto my pillow, an earsplitting train whistle blew and the screech of metal wheels on metal track screamed outside the window. I closed my eyes.