Through the Doors of our Waking Lives
It’s night. The best kind of night you can image. The sky is so clear that were I any other place than the city, the moon and stars would shine like incandescent bulbs against the velvet sky. But as it was they glowed dimly, if at all, above the overpowering blaze of city lights. To me it seemed as if the streetlights and sporadic dappling of apartment and office lights still on were nothing more than beacons in the dark left on by a child still afraid of the dark and monsters hiding under the bed.
It was quiet. As it should be at 4am—when the entire world is asleep in bed. This was my favorite time of night, when I move silently about the apartment and got to watch the world sleep from my very window. But not just the world either.
In just a pair of boxers, I shuffled quietly away from the bank of windows that stretched to cover an amazing portion of the living room wall. The hardwood was cool and pleasant against the underside of my feet as I walked the expanse of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.
Most of the windows were partially opened. The heavy humid air that always came with summer, having already been swept away with the evening sun, left the air in the apartment light and breathable again.
Farther down the hall from the kitchen I stood in the doorway to the bedroom. The glass of water I had procured from the kitchen dripped lazily on my shorts and bare legs. The cold fat drops running from the side of glass were a shock against my heated flesh. The air might have given us a reprieve from the humidity of the past few days, but my body had yet to become accustomed to anything else. Still, the nuisance of those drops, now running down my legs—never completing their journey to the floor, absorbing into the skin—didn’t detract me from my thoughts.
In the bed lay Clara. The room, cast in that forever present illumination of the streetlights, gave her skin a warm glow that made me want to reach out and touch every inch of it.
The thin barely existent sheet that was usually folded in neatly at the ends during the day was now entwined tightly around Clara’s lower half. He arms, and the beautifully delicious skin of her upper body, left naked in the partial darkness of the room.
In sleep she was restless, no position was ever comfortable enough--she had to keep moving. It was how she was in life. The tangled sheet confining her legs could attest to this fact. During the day her personality was no different. If Clara wasn’t doing something exhaustive she got very restless and anxious. When she was like this I knew she was thinking of leaving, going somewhere, anywhere.
But just away.
I didn’t know if this was what scared me most about Clara or not. At other times I wondered if she would ever find her peace.
The glass moved from my hand to an empty space on the bookshelf, almost on its own accord, while I made my way onto the bed.
Where did you go?
I knew Clara was an extremely light sleeper. Maybe I should have felt guilty because of this. But I didn’t. Maybe I was really just selfish, but I wanted under the sheet that so thoroughly barred me from completely touching her skin.
I’m sorry for waking you.
She laughed softly.
No, you’re not.
Clara could read anyone’s intentions. Or maybe she was just really good at reading me. But no matter her method, she always handled the information lightly, as if even the most important action carried no weight. She never took anything personally. I didn’t think anything could threaten her existence.
I can’t sleep. I’m wide awake now.
Her voice was soft, almost dull inside my head. That’s how I knew I’d been drifting into sleep. Clara was never soft, never quiet.
Come on. Let’s do something.
Even before I could pin her to the bed, she was already up and slipping into a pair of jeans. With my eyes closed I could hear her shuffle through the dresser. Probably looking for a bra and t-shirt.
Come on. Let’s go.
Her words were punctured by a weight falling onto my back. I could already hear the anxiousness in her voice. She was ready to leave me behind.
We hit the street and Clara immediately grabbed for my hand and began to swing it back and forth with such urgency I was afraid to ask her to stop. What I loved most about Clara was her energy, but at moments like this one, it terrified me a little.
She laughed, loudly now that we were outside.
Where do you want to go?
There’s not many places to go. Everything is closed. And everyone is asleep.
Oh, come on. There’s got to be something we can do. It’s a good night.
I wanted to laugh at how young Clara seemed compared to me in this moment. She was bustling with explosive energy and I was ready to go back to bed. I sobered and reminded myself how in the next breath she could seem so much older.
What about the park?
Clara didn’t wait. As soon as the thought entered her head she started making her way down the street, me in tow.
Unsurprisingly, the park was deserted. The dozen or so lights dimly shone along the river and the foot path before us, leaving both to be swallowed by the early morning.
Clara was bent over taking off her running shoes in the high unkempt grass.
Milo, I’ll race you to the swings.
And she took off. No matter how much of a head start she had I still beat her, grabbing the closest swing and sitting down. Clara sat down on my right, breathing hard. We were both sweating, a combination of the running and the rising temperature of the day to come.
Oh, man, I need to exercise more.
And then she was kicking off, pumping the swing higher and faster.
Milo.
Yes?
But she didn’t say anything for a long while. I was beginning to think she had said my name just for the sake of having said it.
Why do you want me? Why stay with me?
I sat motionless on the swing, watching as she pumped her arms and legs harder. For a moment it seemed as if she was going to take off, fly far away.
A few minutes past and I still hadn’t said anything. But she hadn’t once looked in my direction, even when she asked her questions.
I like your energy Clara. And it feels like there are still a lot of things I don’t know about you.
For a heartbeat I’m just tossing out half-truths and nonsensical answers.
Milo, how long have you known me?
A year, maybe.
Don’t you think you would know everything about me by now?
No. I don’t think I’ll ever know you.
It was spoken simply but truthfully.
So why do you stay? I know I can be exhausting some times.
Maybe I’m just enjoying the ride and waiting for you to leave me.
Clara turned her head and smiled at me.
What if I’m waiting for you to leave me?
I matched her smile. For a second it seemed almost sad, but that could have just been the light.
Then I guess we’re going to be stuck together for a while. Is that going to bother you?
She launched herself away from the swing landing almost six feet away where the sand met the overgrown grass. Catching herself on her hands, Clara was doubled over in front of me.
Maybe it was time to start heading back, I thought. At the same time Clara turned around with a flourish and bowed very gracefully, as if she were a gymnast who had just completed a very difficult routine. I smiled gently at her playfulness and held my arm out to her so we could start walking back.
Why, thank you, good sir.
She laughed as she said this and took my arm.
It was quiet. As it should be at 4am—when the entire world is asleep in bed. This was my favorite time of night, when I move silently about the apartment and got to watch the world sleep from my very window. But not just the world either.
In just a pair of boxers, I shuffled quietly away from the bank of windows that stretched to cover an amazing portion of the living room wall. The hardwood was cool and pleasant against the underside of my feet as I walked the expanse of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.
Most of the windows were partially opened. The heavy humid air that always came with summer, having already been swept away with the evening sun, left the air in the apartment light and breathable again.
Farther down the hall from the kitchen I stood in the doorway to the bedroom. The glass of water I had procured from the kitchen dripped lazily on my shorts and bare legs. The cold fat drops running from the side of glass were a shock against my heated flesh. The air might have given us a reprieve from the humidity of the past few days, but my body had yet to become accustomed to anything else. Still, the nuisance of those drops, now running down my legs—never completing their journey to the floor, absorbing into the skin—didn’t detract me from my thoughts.
In the bed lay Clara. The room, cast in that forever present illumination of the streetlights, gave her skin a warm glow that made me want to reach out and touch every inch of it.
The thin barely existent sheet that was usually folded in neatly at the ends during the day was now entwined tightly around Clara’s lower half. He arms, and the beautifully delicious skin of her upper body, left naked in the partial darkness of the room.
In sleep she was restless, no position was ever comfortable enough--she had to keep moving. It was how she was in life. The tangled sheet confining her legs could attest to this fact. During the day her personality was no different. If Clara wasn’t doing something exhaustive she got very restless and anxious. When she was like this I knew she was thinking of leaving, going somewhere, anywhere.
But just away.
I didn’t know if this was what scared me most about Clara or not. At other times I wondered if she would ever find her peace.
The glass moved from my hand to an empty space on the bookshelf, almost on its own accord, while I made my way onto the bed.
Where did you go?
I knew Clara was an extremely light sleeper. Maybe I should have felt guilty because of this. But I didn’t. Maybe I was really just selfish, but I wanted under the sheet that so thoroughly barred me from completely touching her skin.
I’m sorry for waking you.
She laughed softly.
No, you’re not.
Clara could read anyone’s intentions. Or maybe she was just really good at reading me. But no matter her method, she always handled the information lightly, as if even the most important action carried no weight. She never took anything personally. I didn’t think anything could threaten her existence.
I can’t sleep. I’m wide awake now.
Her voice was soft, almost dull inside my head. That’s how I knew I’d been drifting into sleep. Clara was never soft, never quiet.
Come on. Let’s do something.
Even before I could pin her to the bed, she was already up and slipping into a pair of jeans. With my eyes closed I could hear her shuffle through the dresser. Probably looking for a bra and t-shirt.
Come on. Let’s go.
Her words were punctured by a weight falling onto my back. I could already hear the anxiousness in her voice. She was ready to leave me behind.
We hit the street and Clara immediately grabbed for my hand and began to swing it back and forth with such urgency I was afraid to ask her to stop. What I loved most about Clara was her energy, but at moments like this one, it terrified me a little.
She laughed, loudly now that we were outside.
Where do you want to go?
There’s not many places to go. Everything is closed. And everyone is asleep.
Oh, come on. There’s got to be something we can do. It’s a good night.
I wanted to laugh at how young Clara seemed compared to me in this moment. She was bustling with explosive energy and I was ready to go back to bed. I sobered and reminded myself how in the next breath she could seem so much older.
What about the park?
Clara didn’t wait. As soon as the thought entered her head she started making her way down the street, me in tow.
Unsurprisingly, the park was deserted. The dozen or so lights dimly shone along the river and the foot path before us, leaving both to be swallowed by the early morning.
Clara was bent over taking off her running shoes in the high unkempt grass.
Milo, I’ll race you to the swings.
And she took off. No matter how much of a head start she had I still beat her, grabbing the closest swing and sitting down. Clara sat down on my right, breathing hard. We were both sweating, a combination of the running and the rising temperature of the day to come.
Oh, man, I need to exercise more.
And then she was kicking off, pumping the swing higher and faster.
Milo.
Yes?
But she didn’t say anything for a long while. I was beginning to think she had said my name just for the sake of having said it.
Why do you want me? Why stay with me?
I sat motionless on the swing, watching as she pumped her arms and legs harder. For a moment it seemed as if she was going to take off, fly far away.
A few minutes past and I still hadn’t said anything. But she hadn’t once looked in my direction, even when she asked her questions.
I like your energy Clara. And it feels like there are still a lot of things I don’t know about you.
For a heartbeat I’m just tossing out half-truths and nonsensical answers.
Milo, how long have you known me?
A year, maybe.
Don’t you think you would know everything about me by now?
No. I don’t think I’ll ever know you.
It was spoken simply but truthfully.
So why do you stay? I know I can be exhausting some times.
Maybe I’m just enjoying the ride and waiting for you to leave me.
Clara turned her head and smiled at me.
What if I’m waiting for you to leave me?
I matched her smile. For a second it seemed almost sad, but that could have just been the light.
Then I guess we’re going to be stuck together for a while. Is that going to bother you?
She launched herself away from the swing landing almost six feet away where the sand met the overgrown grass. Catching herself on her hands, Clara was doubled over in front of me.
Maybe it was time to start heading back, I thought. At the same time Clara turned around with a flourish and bowed very gracefully, as if she were a gymnast who had just completed a very difficult routine. I smiled gently at her playfulness and held my arm out to her so we could start walking back.
Why, thank you, good sir.
She laughed as she said this and took my arm.
Comments