(no subject)
the morning was warm. even portions of air burst in and told him so, touching his bare legs each time the doors buckled open with a hiss. a few miles of sunlight had warmed the east-facing side of his dark hair, and jamie put his right palm up to feel it, smiling down at his feet in concentration, eyes still closed from 5 night hours on an empty bus. stretching his arms out straight, swallowing, remembering in dullness all that had happened the previous year that finally pushed him to leave the city, jamie fixed his slumped posture. he started to open his eyes, noticing that it was comfortable to open them, without the stinging of cold wind in them or the bits of snow or ice or late-night television shows, or even the red loneliness of insomnia and a bedspread that wouldn't stay on. blinking, he watched out the window, and counted the blur of North Carolina street names that ran past. only one night out of new york, and already he felt better, less like the kind of person who could move past one thousand others each day, brushing bags or even hands, and not feel any part of humanity seeping through at all, either coming or going. he pictured parts of new york in his mind as he thumbed through a week-old Village Voice, without missing them. not the retro shiny diners with the red booths, the dirty backseats of cabs, or the gum-covered pennies on the sidewalks. not the beautiful women in skirts and sneakers that he couldn't talk to. Sitting up straight now, jamie let the newspaper slide into the bus stairwell, and felt around the inside pocket of his orange and brown jacket. he brought out a cigarette and lit it and his lungs filled with the soft grey cloud. he blew it out at the plastic window, watching with a calm half-south patience for something familiar to roll by. not familiar in that he'd seen it before, but familiar in a way that felt much more like where he should be, than where he'd been. jamie knew he'd see the reasons he came-- a dislodged brick in a building side, a set of dishtowels drying on a railing, a small cat under a bush-- all over the place now, more and more frequently as his eyes and lungs and mouth opened wide, as they will do in north carolina, but never in the northeast. all he had to do was watch and wait, nothing more, and that made it easy to breathe and easy to smile.
jamie buttoned his jacket halfway and rang the bus bell to get off. the doors buckled in, the warm air sidled past him into the bus as he stepped out onto the concrete. shielding his eyes, jamie turned towards a street of small stores, trees and a church, and began walking slowly. for a moment, he remembered the man who often sat on his front steps next door, back in new york. late last night, as jamie's ride pulled up, the man had said to him, Jamie, i can see you're leaving for a while, and i think you should. i want you to know, you don't have to know what your looking for. just make sure that you're going toward something more than you're running away from something else. and look around you as you go, don't believe that bullshit about not looking into the sun. if there's sun on you, then goddamnit, stare it in the face and let it light up everything behind you. it's too cold up here, jamie. ive watched enough snow for the both of us. then the man turned, and went into his house, the metal mailslot banging softly as the door met its frame.
jamie let the image of his neighbor disappear, and returned to the morning, looking into the storefronts, realizing he was hungry and deciding to look for a place to buy an apple. he lowered his hand and put it in his pocket. jamie walked into the sun, light reflecting off his face onto the strangers he passed.
jamie buttoned his jacket halfway and rang the bus bell to get off. the doors buckled in, the warm air sidled past him into the bus as he stepped out onto the concrete. shielding his eyes, jamie turned towards a street of small stores, trees and a church, and began walking slowly. for a moment, he remembered the man who often sat on his front steps next door, back in new york. late last night, as jamie's ride pulled up, the man had said to him, Jamie, i can see you're leaving for a while, and i think you should. i want you to know, you don't have to know what your looking for. just make sure that you're going toward something more than you're running away from something else. and look around you as you go, don't believe that bullshit about not looking into the sun. if there's sun on you, then goddamnit, stare it in the face and let it light up everything behind you. it's too cold up here, jamie. ive watched enough snow for the both of us. then the man turned, and went into his house, the metal mailslot banging softly as the door met its frame.
jamie let the image of his neighbor disappear, and returned to the morning, looking into the storefronts, realizing he was hungry and deciding to look for a place to buy an apple. he lowered his hand and put it in his pocket. jamie walked into the sun, light reflecting off his face onto the strangers he passed.