End Your Story with a Kiss at Midnight

Somewhere, Far Away

I awaken to a trash truck collecting garbage. 6:53 AM, 7 minutes ahead of schedule. It’s soothing to wake naturally, without the disorienting sound of an alarm startling me out of dream world. What was my dream again? Oh, I fell from an airplane and landed in Paris, Texas, where I hitchhiked along the highway and asked a woman in a park ranger’s uniform, “Is this really Paris, Texas?” She said yes, it was. Why am I here, what does this mean? I wondered.

I fill a teapot with just the right amount of water to reach the 13.5 oz. line of my French press, in which I scoop two heaping tablespoons of coffee grounds. Once the water reaches a soft boil, I pour a small amount over the grounds and let them soak for 30 seconds. Making coffee is perhaps my favorite part of the day, a slow, intentional process yielding a dark, aromatic liquid that will soon be mixed with half and half and maple syrup. I choose a mug based on my mood. Today is a plain white teacup that will act as a blank canvas to accompany my swirling thoughts.

I lace my running shoes and head out the door, towards the East River. The morning is cold. A crisp gust of wind smacks me in the face. My ears tingle—I should have covered them. What was I thinking? No, no time for criticism. I feel good today. I run past school children and a hungry man digging in the trash for an abandoned slice of pizza or a day-old bagel.

Oh, yes, finally: the smell of the water, salty and humid. Soft waves are lit by orange sunlight. A cargo ship travels east. I miss Allen. No, no, I can’t think about Allen. It’s been almost a year. I need to move on. But that night was magical; I could feel electricity in the air. We sat on my balcony and the sky was like marble, broken clouds revealing midnight blue. Time stopped when I was with him, for there was something about his touch, his presence, that tranquilized my mind. There was no tomorrow or yesterday, only now, hushed by trees whispering in the wind. I loved him, even after he destroyed my walls; even after he left me as swiftly as time moves.

I must ground myself. There! There’s the Chrysler building, and there’s the Empire State. Domino Park is empty. And there, there’s Allen again. I think about him when I run, but only when I run. I think about touching his skin and when we danced under pink lights. That night, that night! It haunts me. I sat on his lap. He pulled me in, our noses touching. He kissed me. “What time is it?” I asked. I always asked. How the hours passed in an instant, as they do when one falls asleep during a long car ride. “Midnight.”