Everywhere

Everywhere 

In his classic hit, good ole’ Sting sang, “Every breath you take, every move you make, I’ll be watching you.” Now, everyone says that song is about a stalker. Me, on the other hand; I’d like to think it’s about me.

You see, I am air. That’s right, air. I am EVERYWHERE. You cannot see me, you cannot feel me most of the time (unless I get a bit frazzled, then I can really give you a chill!), and you cannot hold me. I surround you, I sustain you, I watch you 24/7. And you’ve got nothing on me.

The Ancient Greeks talk about the classical elements, those things that reflect the essential parts that create everything in existence: earth, wind, fire, and last but certainly not least, AIR. Little do they know, I am the one at the center of those elements, I am the solidifying one, the glue that holds everything together. I sustain all life, all existence. Without me, you foolish mammals, you would be empty, useless beings, all carnal, no mental. You would be vacant, lungs empty, collapsed, you in a choking haze, on your deathbed, forever gone from this world.

I am invisible, yet I see more than anyone else. I swish around the world, watching you creatures crawl about, allowing you to live so that you can wake to see another day. I am invisible and invincible, yet I, like all, have moments of weakness. When I am held back from people, I must watch their demise, and this hurts me. When Susan Smith pushed her car with her three children into that lake, I remember reaching out for them. I wanted so badly to jump into the water, to fill their lungs with life, to save them. But it was beyond me, a weakness I could not surpass. I saw them die from atop the water, sadness overwhelming me.

I am sentimental, but I can also be furious. I am no saint, after all. Hurricane Frances; my greatest shame, and my greatest mark. So many died because of my fury. Could I have controlled it? Maybe. But I was too wrapped up in my own rage to try.

Then there are the tornados. In them lies my true release. There, I dance around, a cylindrical ballerina, each turn of my pirouette creating mounds of destruction. Do I regret this? Perhaps I regret the people who die because of my demolition, or those foolish enough to chase me; but I wouldn’t give it up for the world. They allow me to float freely, a rush in a world of calm.

I have seen so many things in my existence; so much love and hate, observed quiet tears that were thought to be shed alone, seen the horrors and joys of life, and caused so much happiness and destruction. I am me, and I am here, and I will continue to thrive until our planet becomes washed away in a dark misery.

I am air, I am invisible, and I am everywhere. As I record these thoughts, I wrap myself around an autumn tree, helping its brown, crisp leaves, fall from its branches. As they descend through me, I see beauty born as the sun shines on them, revealing the life they once possessed.

Waking Up

WAKING UP

I woke up in a haze. Everything around me was blurry. I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. I could see through it someone standing in front of me. Tall, thin, dressed in a bright orange pencil skirt, with a silk floral blouse tucked into it. Her slim figure fit perfectly into the clothes. She wore a long gold necklace around her neck, which draped elegantly over the blouse. She was perfect.

I turned my head so it was facing the objects next to me; a red see-through blouse, hanging up. Behind it lay a series of identical red blouses, all lined up perfectly on the rack. “Where am I?” I thought. Then I remembered the events of the previous day.

I had woken up under Petersbrook Bridge, like any other morning, around 5AM. Usually I can sleep through the sounds of the cars for a little bit, but by 5 or so it’s just not possible. I picked up my sack o’ goods, consisting of a few snacks I’d scrounged up, some winter gear, and some reading material I’d acquired. On some days I’m lucky enough to wake up with some hooch left over; not that day, though.

It was spring in New York, so I left my winter gear in my bag, and went on with my usual routine. I washed my face and hands in the 7-11 bathroom down the street. As I did so, I looked at my dirty reflection in the mirror. God, I looked like crap. Then, I was on my way to make rounds.

Now, being homeless really isn’t so bad. My life actually has a lot of meaning. By meaning, I mean hooch. I ain’t no druggy. Not for lack of trying though; I just can’t afford the stuff anymore. In my prime days, I loved me some c-dust and k, but nowadays, well, my pockets are just too empty for that stuff, and so I’ve had to stick to cheaper alternatives.

So my hooch search began at about 5:30am. First and foremost, I needed money. This consisted of sitting at my favorite spot, in front of the Korean Grocery store. And there I stayed, until I had enough.

You know, sitting in front of that grocery, day in and day out, is never where I thought I would be at my age. But I made a few wrong turns, hung out with a few of the wrong people, and bam, here I am. Do I want to change my life? The truth of the matter is, I want to want to change my life; but as many wants as I add there, it just aint’ happening.

At about 8am I had enough money for a cheap bottle of vodka. So, off to my favorite corner store I went. The owner knows me well. Well, by “well” I mean, he watches me like a hawk, knowing I’m apt to steal something if given the opportunity. I get my vodka and go. I head for Central Park, where I know I can drink in peace. Under Petersbrook, well there will be too many people trying to get a piece of my goods.

After drinking my vodka and people watching, I find a nice spot under a tree where I can fall asleep into oblivion. Like every other day, a police officer wakes me up. By then it’s after 3pm, and I’m off for round 2. This time, I head for a corner store on 45th and Broadway, a new location. I sit there a couple hours with my cap held out, until the owner realizes what I’m doing and gives me the boot. I leave with my head up, try to give off the impression that I have some pride left in me.

As I walk away from the store, I look into my hat. And lo and behold, I scored a $20! I didn’t even look at it, and I’m shocked. I’m beyond shocked: I’m elated! This means I can get the real good stuff, and that I will do. And I know just where to get it from.

I head to my buddy Bill’s neck of the woods, on the outskirts of Pillborough Bridge. And there I score the good stuff. I’m in such a good mood, I even smoke Bill out; share and share alike I figure. As I inhale through Bill’s rusty pipe, I feel a sense of serenity wash over me. There are not words to explain what I feel. Ecstasy? Euphoria? Perfection? I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I would do anything to experience over and over again.

So, I’m high off my ass, and feeling a bit lonely. I ask Bill if he want to do a little window shopping with me, since that’s pretty much the only thing we can do without getting our asses into trouble. We walk down 44th and Broadway, checking out all the displays outside the shops. We walk in a few, but all of the stare, they’re just bothersome, as I’m sure you can imagine.

I don’t know how long we were traipsing around for. We sat down at one point, and with my remaining money we split a hot dog. Bill was telling me a story about how his boy shit himself at some amusement park years ago; I was laughing my ass off, not because the story was funny, but because the idea of even having a boy just made me think about who I was: a fucking druggy bum, worthless, disgusting, a real sad sack of shit. My high was completely gone at this point, and I was starting to sober up. I looked at my dirty hands as Bill continued to talk, and saw my life in them in the mud caked over them. Dark, disgusting, yet completely fixable; if only I’d find a sink to wash all of the nastiness away. But I chose to ignore each sink I walked by, and to remain in my world of nothingness.

Bill and I begged a bit at a corner gas station, until we had enough for some hooch. We each got a 40 and a small bottle of tequila to split. We drank and talked in front of the gas station, then Bill said he had some people to meet up with, and left. I sat by myself, and decided to continue window shopping, by my lonesome.

I don’t know what time it was, but I was walking past Macy’s, and though it would be fun to go in. It was pretty empty in there, and surprisingly, no one seemed to notice me. I walked around for a bit, looking the dresses and suits, picturing me in them, me dressed in a different reality, someone else, someone I could be, but I had disposed of entirely.

I suppose I must have gotten tired in my drunken stupor, and lied down for a nap. And now here I am, awake, staring at the lovely mannequin in front of me. I get up, feeling my back ache, as usual, after years of sleeping on the floor. My mouth is like cotton, which is nothing new, and my head has its habitual throbbing feeling. I walk toward the mannequin, and the top part of her blouse. I run my fingers down the front, over the buttons, feelings its smoothness. I put my hands over her hips, feeling the soft touch of the skirt, and the roundness of her hips in my palms. I take a few steps back, and look at her perfection, standing there for a few moments.

I then turn around to get my bag, and am faced with myself. I see a long mirror. All of this glamour around me, and there is me, dirt-covered, waking up in a Macy’s alone in the middle of the night. I think of all of the possibilities as I grab my bag, and hope I can figure out how to unlock the doors so that I can make my way back to my worthless existence.