The lights of the City
XoreThe lights of the city passed by beneath me, past the warn, warm plastic panes that separate me from the chill night air. The still air bites cold like the wind, but I am the one passing by at a hundred miles an hour. In the distance, the traffic moves sluggishly to my eye, but half a city away, the 12:30am traffic speeds through the empty streets of neon signs and traffic lights that shine red and shine green. As fast as I am going, as fast as they are going, they still look like little candles floating through a dark marshy river, cascading ripples flickering under the full moon.
As the skytrain moves through the trees obscuring the vision of the city, the lights inside the train shine back at me, and i see my reflection peering through the plastic, eye to eye. There she is, sitting across the aisle, waiting on the same train flying over the city. Not the sort you would call a goddess. Not a windswept sculpture carved from soapstone washed apon the shoreline of a sea of aqua waves and ivory beaches. Not a vision. Brownish hair dyed blonde, drawn back into a ponytail, tired eyes. Slouching in a gray hoodie, hands resting on her lap, worn and faded blue jeans. Is that a purse, or a black backpack on the seat next to her?
The trees and the moment are gone, but while the city shines back through, i can still see the outline in the window. Is she searching the city, as I am? Looking out the window at the darkness, seeking inspiration, seeking solitude, seeking reprieve and beauty in the wash of lights amidst the darkness? Did her eye flicker towards my still form, peering out the window?
The city sweeps by, but I can’t focus on it anymore. Like skilled dancers do our eyes play, switching back and forth, peering at the city, at the lights, at our laps, at the train. Like silk and satin our gazes slide across each other in the reflections on that plastic pane, never quite meeting, never holding. Never finding purchase in the stillness of each others gaze.
Or is it just me? As i furtively peer into the night and the city, I can’t help but wonder if it’s just me, my mind playing with itself. As my gaze flickers next across her in the window, there her eyes are again, staring into mine. Silk and satin. My gaze slips across hers, and the moment never existed. Back and forth, yet it’s not her eyes that falter but my own. Not her gaze that crumbles but my own. Not her posture that turns away but my own. I can bear it no longer. Refocusing out on the city, the lights flickering by, but my concentration is shattered, because she is watching me. Her mouth opens, possibly to say something, but closes. Not red lips, just the tired lips of someone on their way home on the train, late at night, 12:30 am. She is beautiful, not in a glamorous way, nor viperously cute with looks to kill. Her eyes, her kind, tired eyes. Eyes that are looking at me.
Eyes that are looking at me. And i cannot muster the strength to look at her anymore. Cannot gather the will to turn my head to look at her directly, to open my mouth and say something. I cannot bear to look at her anymore, because there is my shame. My inability to respond, to control my eyes to meet her gaze. Instead i look away.
The night passes by, the darkness consumes the lights of the city.
The train pulls into terminus. The train stops, the passengers get off, switching trains. On the platform, she is there, as two trains pull in. As the door closes the cold night air back out, i can see her across the platform, her eyes looking into mine, twin panes of plastic between us, and the trains pull out, back into the darkness and the city lights. The gaze is broken, never to be regained.
Behind me, a girl talks to her boyfriend sitting next to her. “… i think about it afterwards, but at the time, it’s just my emotions, they’re all like, you know, and i go and i say, like, you know, things, things that i probably, you know, shouldn’t, and then i think about it afterwards, but i can’t control it, you know? Like i know i shouldn’t be saying it at the time but i can’t help it, and i regret it, like, you know, but … ” … but what she says is drowned out by the roar of the train, as is what he says next to her, as the trains engines decellerate and the train pulls into the next station. The couple gets off, and silence is sovereign.
Another station, and another. I ghost from the platform to the busses below, the cold night air saturated with cigarette smoke. The chewing gum on the sidewalk must be older than I am, it never goes away. The cigarettes don’t last five minutes on the sidewalk, snatched by cold dirty hands that you don’t see, belonging to people you choose not to see, in a city that doesn’t believe they exist. The city is an ashtray that needs no emptying. The peices come together again, to be smoked again, and again, and again, until nothing remains, the last drop of tar sucked between parched lips and exhaled, not leaving a smile behind, but a grimmace, and a minute of repreive from the pain.
The bus comes, like a phantom in the night, the wheels grinding bits of crumbled concrete, the squeak of the brakes, and the familiar chug of it’s idling engine. Dim lights inside show passengers to their seats, but never enough to open a book to, never enough to write a note in. Just enough to gaze out the windows into the lights of the city, and back into the reflection of yourself, and the reflections of the other people on the bus, the other people who are looking out their windows into the lights of the city, and looking back into the reflections of themselves, looking back into the reflection of you. Gazes crisscross, like a dance of a thousand partners, silk and satin, sliding across each other in the dim lighting of the late night city bus, framed by the lights of the city shining in at us.
The night goes by, and the bus deposits me in the cold night air. No more cigarette smoke, as i walk down avenues of trees backlit by streetlights. Not enough chill or enough moisture to frost, but enough to make me glad of my sweater and the windbreaker i had pulled over it. I can’t see my breath, but i can feel the warmth of it against my face. Not very cold, but just cold enough. The lights of the city guide my way home.
Down a dark narrow staircase, I seek the darkness of my own little cave, my carving out of this world. The dim glow of the LCD burns my tired eyes into night, slowly watering, oblivian takes me. The lights of the city go out, and morning comes.