Mikey and the Chickadee Ch. 14

I sat for what felt like a long time. The shop owner stepped outside to smoke and asked where I was from. He looked surprised upon hearing that I lived in Corbin.

"You'll get your clothes dirty from sitting out here," he said.

I told him it was okay and watched him take a long, final drag, the ember screaming less than an inch from his lips. He quickly stamped it out as thick silver smoke streamed from his face, then went back inside without another word.

I watched the smoke rise up one floor, then perhaps two, until I imagined more than I saw. It crept past shuttered windows, hung momentarily under the eve four floors up, then leaked into the night sky, dissipating by way of a slow breeze.

Otherwise I languished inside my phone, tumbling through travel blogs and social media. Not long before eight I headed north, passing though a block or two of displaced people. I was solicited twice by drug users, both searching for information. One asked how late the train ran; I told him it ran all night. The other, a rail-thin, frantic woman, sought a nearby bookstore; I said I was sorry but I didn't know of any in the area.

Even-or perhaps especially-the parts of the city that many viewed as unfavorable held an unwavering goodness, of which I was made distinctly aware tonight. As I entered the much busier Old Town I was struck with the feeling that I couldn't stand to move away from such a city. Like a fresh wound, raw and exposed, my emotional state suddenly surged with pain. I cried silently but openly as walked. Then my mind began making frantic reparations; everything hardened quickly over and I straightened up. My face cold and damp, I blinked a few times, feeling extremely out of place in the wake of this brief but bizarre upheaval. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hands, glancing around suspiciously, looking for anyone who might have seen and believing, for some reason, that it mattered.

I gradually looked past knots of people as I edged closer to the harbor, admiring instead the relative permanence of brick and stone, sustaining itself not because of anything I did or did not choose, but exactly in spite of it. Stephanie had relayed, some time ago now, that I should take care not to approach each challenge I faced with indiscriminate urgency. It was that specific tendency that I suspected had presently taken me over. I wasn't leaving now. Even next week I would still be here. And tonight my experience would be a shared one; serendipity towed me closer yet to three people whose impacts lifted me considerably-in particular, Mikey's. I ached for every single encounter. I took in the prosperous energy of awaiting events as a symbol of my good fortune. I knew immediately that no matter my angle of observation, life was brimming, and I had so much to look forward to.