the feeling of the city as a prison was gradually usurped by a general feeling of directionless wandering. When you can’t see ten feet in front of you, the road could just as well go on forever as it could stop after eleven more steps. Landmarks lost their status as points of reference. North, south, east, and west became concepts, unencumbered by attachment to a floating sun or silent moon.
The city became a series of tunnels. You were never held in one place, and you never seemed to be going anywhere specific. All any of us could do was wander around, never quite trapped but with no prospect for escape. It was as liberating as it was crushing.
I needed to sleep. I had been doing too much thinking all afternoon. Without pills and a healthy dose of whiskey, it was going to be a long time before dawn. I was even more confused about Rebecca than before, and had no idea what to make of her story—it was all over the place. She had dodged questions left and right. She changed the subject or answered each question with one of her own. She was thinking on the fly.
We had talked for an hour or so, until I had enough to start putting pieces together on my own. She had been growing more and more nervous the longer she stayed in my office. Fidgeting … looking around as if someone might be watching us there in that windowless room. When she finally got up to leave, there was relief in her eyes. I didn’t take it personally. And she didn’t mean it that way, either. I really did get the feeling that she wished me no ill will. But in a way, that only complicated things. If there was no malice aimed at me, why lie and play games?
I had opened the door for her and moved aside. She smiled and said nothing, stepping past me. I caught her by the left elbow and turned her to face me. She was startled, eyes like an animal about to break and run. I had leaned in close to her lovely face and said, very quietly, “Rebecca … I don’t think I trust you.” Then I let go of her arm and gently placed my hand on her shoulder, ushering her out the door. She stuttered and tried to respond, but I had smiled, almost wistfully, and shut the door in her face.
We were to see each other again in two days. Same time, same place. So that left me time to see what I could find out, to start cross-referencing her facts, check up on her details.
It was not quite nighttime. Just enough light bounced around off the fog, coming down from the sun somewhere high above, to render the streetlights impotent. I always loved the magic hour between light and dark. It reminded me of something from a dream: the way the lamps shine but cast no shadows, the sky blue but sunless and the land still colorful but faded. On the streets with blowers, a bit of that essence remained.
The orbs winked at me from alleys and side streets bisecting Eighth Ave. Little wisps of haze reached out toward me, as if for me, from these darkened roads, and then twirled about themselves, dancing back into the mist or gently dispersing into nothing. I think if I had my choice and I could make the fog go away, the first thing I would want to see would be twilight with just a few stars piercing the blue gray canopy. I wanted to watch night creep over the dome of sky and wrap around us all, and then, in the morning, the sun would rise and I would never again be angry to have it on my shoulders or in my eyes.
I had stopped walking and stood, lost in thought, in the middle of the street. It must have been true night above by now—I cast a shadow in the pale light of the streetlamps, and the soft glow of the few open stores and restaurants spilled out onto the sidewalks before them.
The door to Carol’s apartment was close by. I knew she’d let me in. Earlier in the afternoon, I had thought it was what I wanted. What I needed. But as I lingered there in the twilight haze, I couldn’t bring myself to take those last few steps. To ring the bell, to make the small talk and drink the wine
The city became a series of tunnels. You were never held in one place, and you never seemed to be going anywhere specific. All any of us could do was wander around, never quite trapped but with no prospect for escape. It was as liberating as it was crushing.
I needed to sleep. I had been doing too much thinking all afternoon. Without pills and a healthy dose of whiskey, it was going to be a long time before dawn. I was even more confused about Rebecca than before, and had no idea what to make of her story—it was all over the place. She had dodged questions left and right. She changed the subject or answered each question with one of her own. She was thinking on the fly.
We had talked for an hour or so, until I had enough to start putting pieces together on my own. She had been growing more and more nervous the longer she stayed in my office. Fidgeting … looking around as if someone might be watching us there in that windowless room. When she finally got up to leave, there was relief in her eyes. I didn’t take it personally. And she didn’t mean it that way, either. I really did get the feeling that she wished me no ill will. But in a way, that only complicated things. If there was no malice aimed at me, why lie and play games?
I had opened the door for her and moved aside. She smiled and said nothing, stepping past me. I caught her by the left elbow and turned her to face me. She was startled, eyes like an animal about to break and run. I had leaned in close to her lovely face and said, very quietly, “Rebecca … I don’t think I trust you.” Then I let go of her arm and gently placed my hand on her shoulder, ushering her out the door. She stuttered and tried to respond, but I had smiled, almost wistfully, and shut the door in her face.
We were to see each other again in two days. Same time, same place. So that left me time to see what I could find out, to start cross-referencing her facts, check up on her details.
It was not quite nighttime. Just enough light bounced around off the fog, coming down from the sun somewhere high above, to render the streetlights impotent. I always loved the magic hour between light and dark. It reminded me of something from a dream: the way the lamps shine but cast no shadows, the sky blue but sunless and the land still colorful but faded. On the streets with blowers, a bit of that essence remained.
The orbs winked at me from alleys and side streets bisecting Eighth Ave. Little wisps of haze reached out toward me, as if for me, from these darkened roads, and then twirled about themselves, dancing back into the mist or gently dispersing into nothing. I think if I had my choice and I could make the fog go away, the first thing I would want to see would be twilight with just a few stars piercing the blue gray canopy. I wanted to watch night creep over the dome of sky and wrap around us all, and then, in the morning, the sun would rise and I would never again be angry to have it on my shoulders or in my eyes.
I had stopped walking and stood, lost in thought, in the middle of the street. It must have been true night above by now—I cast a shadow in the pale light of the streetlamps, and the soft glow of the few open stores and restaurants spilled out onto the sidewalks before them.
The door to Carol’s apartment was close by. I knew she’d let me in. Earlier in the afternoon, I had thought it was what I wanted. What I needed. But as I lingered there in the twilight haze, I couldn’t bring myself to take those last few steps. To ring the bell, to make the small talk and drink the wine
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