The glow is gone

It was the first chilly night in months - cool air breathing across my clothes and through the pores. Alone time. I orbited the moon in my mind. It's hard not to think of Apollo 13 when my eyes adjust to a bright full moon. Floating in space with no air. It's cold beyond belief but you can't feel it because there are no atoms to transfer the heat, or lack thereof.

This drew a shiver all over my body, snapping me back to reality. Houston we have a problem.

I remember when I used to wonder how the sound of an ocean was trapped in a sea shell. It must echo for all eternity. The lunar illumination cast a soft white glow on all that was not lit by human hands. The mountains mostly. My skin as well.

I lit a cigarette. I don't smoke, I thought. It's taken me 2 months to get through this pack, but right now I need to relax. I need to have a reason to be alone here on an empty housing tract with a view of suburban sprawl.

Lighting the paper I sucked hard to get the burn even. In the back of my mind I thought of the first time I learned to blow on a fire to make it bigger. It boggled my young brain back then, because every time I blew out my candles it was air that did it. Air was the enemy of fire.

A car pulled up just then.

Slowly rolling past me, the sound of crunching asphalt and idling cylinders smearing my ears. It stopped down the little street a ways. Pointing at the lights below.

I don't know why city lights are such a beautiful thing. Most of what I'm looking at are street lamps and industrial complexes. Nothing romantic about them in person. Their dull orange glow blankets the road just outside my window. It's more annoying than anything when I'm trying to sleep.

Two figures got out and closed the doors. Sound travels well through silence. I could hear what they were saying. It didn't take long to understand that they were still in high school.

"I know and then you just sat there during cheer practice..." said a girl's voice.

I wondered if they considered me at all while they conversed. Did they think it was strange that I was here alone? Did they think maybe that my cigarette was something more than that?

I tried not to think of what they might be thinking and attempted to concentrate once again on the glow. I lit another cigarette. Only one more left. I didn't want to smoke more than two but whats the point of leaving one in a pack?

The familiar sound of an acoustic guitar being raised from it's coffin caught my attention. The boy was going to serenade the girl or impress her. It was all an emulation of a perfect moment they'd seen on TV or read about in a book. No longer an original idea. I wonder who the first young man to serenade a girl was and what she did. What did he sing to her? I think songs used to be less self centered in the past.

I used to practice songs on my guitar. I would imagine the perfect opportunity to reveal my skill. Maybe at a beach with some friends and that girl I liked. Or maybe on a hill overlooking the valley like these kids. I learned my favorite songs. The quiet ones that made me feel in love, though with what I never knew.

He started singing. It was the sort of teenage drivel I couldn't stand. The same types of songs I probably would have played when I was that age. He kept switching songs, not finishing any single one. I think he was trying to figure out this girl. Hoping to hit on her heart song. Thinking maybe when he sang the lyrics she would associate the love she had for it with him. At least I think that's the hope. That's what I hoped.

I smoked the last cigarette. I was tired and the more I looked at the nightscape the less constructive my thoughts became. Being alone is refreshing right up until it brushes a narcissistic psychosis.

So I left the little concert alone. Driving away, the asphalt crunching under the pressure from my tires. Back into the city, back into the darkness. The glow was gone.