The end of a pleasantly reclusive weekend. The rain a perfect backdrop for reclusion. But I did see friends.
A friend from DC who appreciates my stories and I hers. We talked at impossible lengths of relationships, family, relationships, the future.
At the end of the night, we were done drinking and talking, but we were waiting on another friend. We sipped water, listened to the music and commented on the scenery, feeling our lives all talked out.
A club later that evening. Old friends, half of them drunk, the other half politely waiting until the drunks were ready to leave. Moments of nostalgia, like when I asked who would be responsible for driving so-and-so home while the so-and-so was off giving a $20 tip on a $30 bar bill. This used to be a nightly ritual. I felt a feeling of warmth for my old friend who still took care that the drunks got home safely.
The next night coming home from Brooklyn very late in the evening. A large, balding man with red-rimmed eyes spoke to me in the subway, and I let him converse with me. I did this because I was unsure of his character and thought conversation would give me a better understanding. There was little exchange on my part. I acted a wall that rebounded his comments, nodding or saying i don't know. I could feel a heartbeat when I leaned back on the bench and I couldn't tell if it was his or mine. He said that he was visiting from Philadelphia and mentioned his mother in an uncomfortable way, so that I suspected she was an imaginary companion or left murdered in his hotel room. The people who are seemingly normal are the ones who frighten me. I kept looking at the policeman stationed at the far end of the platform. I felt the vulnerability of being a woman.
Today my friend locked his keys in his apartment. I didn't mean to get involved, but there I was. Three Pakistani women who lived two floors down let him climb the fire escape through their apartment. This saved he and his roommate $50 for a locksmith.
And so the summer ends.
