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The Urban Sleeplessness

A City Is Always Waking

By Amanda RosePublished 6 years ago 29 min read
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The city, Toronto, never sleeps. In the darkest hours of the night it breathes and lives like an animal. But at night life takes on a new image, shadowed and mysterious. The darkness fills in the city, like a plague, giving it an entirely new sense of existence. It is as if stepping into a parallel universe.

I found myself intrigued by the always waking city. I didn’t grow up in grandiose Toronto, but in the small town of Kingston, a mere speck next to the wide expanse of Toronto. Kingston only has a population of just over 150,000 to its name, it can be driven from one end to the other in under a half hour; and Kingston sleeps.

When the bars let out at 2AM the chaos disperses and the drunken people find their way to their homes by 3A.M. The town sleeps at least three hours before 6A.M. when the early risers wake up to greet the day. Kingston always sleeps for at least three hours. It has silence in the dead of night; the still silence that permits rest for the weary.

Sometimes cars stop by, travelers on their way elsewhere, to fill their gas tanks and their bellies. Kingston is mid way between Toronto and Montreal, a natural breaking place. But these visitors are not part of the town, and in the silent night they go by quietly, so as not to arouse the town. They tread lightly on the territory that is not their own so as not to disturb the natural flow of things, like a hunted animal stealing food from its hunter while he sleeps.

There are those who belong to the town who also stay wakeful through the night; insomniacs, rebellious teenagers, drunks, and the depressed, but they do not breathe life into the town. Like scientists, they watch the town; they prod the town, and ultimately they confirm the quiet of the night. They are the sparse few who stay awake through the night, but Kingston itself sleeps.

Toronto knows no such stillness, it is as alive as ever when the sun sets and the dark night sky beseeches the city. Buildings light up and become bright speckled sparkles along the horizon, like a desert mirage. I watch this metropolis from my apartment balcony 21 stories above the earth. I can see all the way to the heart of downtown Toronto from this vantage point. The lights never go out until the sun spreads its light across the land.

Night seems to last forever in the city. Voices, car motors, crickets, horns, sirens, laughs, cries, screams, trains, planes, all sound continuously throughout the night. Police cars patrol the city, ever wary of what lurks in the shadows. Every crevice holds its secrets.

Between my apartment on Toronto’s West end and Toronto’s downtown core lies a rolling black oasis. In daylight it is an expanse of Toronto’s green space, trees as far as the eyes can see, and at night it is home to death, drugs, fornication, and the homeless. It’s a cesspool living off of pain and scraps.

Before my girlfriend left me two weeks ago, we used to look out over the city from the safety of this balcony and admire the sparkling city lights. She liked anything that glittered. I liked anything that she liked, so together we watched the city. Standing here now just seemed the thing to do. We’d lived here for two years before she up and left me.

“I’m leaving you,” she’d come out and said, suitcase in hand, when I came home from work that day.

“What?” I’d replied, caught completely off guard.

“I’m leaving you. It’s not you, it’s me,” she was always one to use an overused cheesy line. “I’m stagnant here, my spirit needs something new.”

I stood there, in shock. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

“I know we signed the apartment lease together, so I’ve left an envelope on the bed with postdated cheques of my half of the rent up until the end of the lease.”

“Um, OK.” I said still dazed, “Can we talk about this?”

“No, I’m leaving now. I’m taking Tabitha too.”

I looked down, the cat was in her cat carrier by my girlfriend's feet. I sighed.

My girlfriend stooped down and picked up the cat carrier with Tabitha in it and walked towards the door. “Goodbye,” she said, pecked me on the cheek and walked out.

I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t stuck in some sort of hellish dream. I was awake, this was happening, and I was utterly unprepared. I stood there for what seemed like an hour before I set down my suitcase, locked the door behind my girlfriend, and walked to the kitchen. I opened the freezer and pulled out a half drunken bottle of vodka, twisted off the lid, and drank from the bottle. It seemed as good a time as any to drink from the bottle.

Later I found myself staring out at the city as usual, the vodka bottle in hand. I wondered where my girlfriend was amongst it all; or rather where my ex-girlfriend was. The idea was having a hard time sinking in. Was it really that easy? She just up and left me, no warning, no sign of anything in her yesterday, or this morning. She even dealt up the money for the apartment, she’d thought of everything it seemed. How long had she been planning on leaving?

I’d wished she hadn’t taken Tabitha with her. Tabitha and I had finally developed a liking for one another. I scratched behind her ears, her tummy, never touched her tail, gave her wet food, and in return she didn’t scratch up the furniture, fish for my goldfish, or piss anywhere but in the litter box. After those parameters were established we enjoyed seeing each other. I named her Tabitha. When we picked her up from the humane society my girlfriend asked me to name her. I could’ve cared less about naming a cat. It was a tabby cat, so Tabitha it was. In retrospect I wished I’d given her a better name. Tabitha the tabby cat was painfully lame.

My life seems to be a revolving ball, changeless and shapeless. Now two weeks after my girlfriend, I mean girlfriend ex-girlfriend has left me I’m standing on this balcony, staring at the same sight, with the same bottle of vodka in my hand, thinking about losing my job earlier today. They couldn’t afford me anymore, they laid me off, no skin off their back, and now I’m left to deal with the aftermath. Just three more years and I’d have replaced the senior accountant at the bank. Great, just great. My severance package can barely float me for a month, and now I have to start from scratch in a new company. That’s assuming I can find a job of course. The economy is bad, so maybe I’ll have to apply for welfare, and then there goes my seamless line of credit.

I drank down the last bit of the vodka, feeling the empty air hit my alcohol heated lips and tongue. After being left by my ex-girlfriend there wasn’t much vodka left for tonight. It was just as well, I thought. I held on to the bottle even though it was empty, it felt nice to have something in my hand. The air was crisp and cool, a perfect October evening, and a Friday. Bits and pieces of various party music blended together before it reached my ears. I could hear a girl laughing several stories down. A jungle beat danced up from that apartment toward me. The night was young; the large sign two blocks away read 10:23PM and then switched to say it was 67 degrees Fahrenheit.

I went back inside the apartment and sat down on the couch. It was an uncomfortable hand-me-down from my parents when my girlfriend and I moved in together. As much as I adjusted myself, the back cushion never supported my back. I’d need to start seeing a chiropractor soon. That is, if I had a job to pay to see a chiropractor. I sighed again.

My apartment was dark. I hadn’t turned any of the lights on; I’d been standing on the balcony since just before 9 o’clock when the sun was setting. I liked watching the sun sets from here, watching the light fade, and the world turn into a magnificent orange-gold before its descent into darkness. Now sitting in the dark of my apartment I felt quite alone. A small light emitted from the night light in the kitchen, casting small shadows off of the dying house plants. I stared at the shadows, then at the plants. They looked like two different beings.

My body was tired but my mind was sharp, and thoughts sped like rapid fire through my brain. I decided to make myself a cup of coffee, so I got up and went into the kitchen. When I flicked on the light, a sharp pain seared into my eyes. I had to blink a few times before my eyes adjusted. The florescent light illuminated every corner of the room, saturating it in artificial radiance.

The kitchen was a mess. I’d been ordering in take-out food since my ex-girlfriend left, and the containers they’d come in had been left strewn around the place. Dropped noodles, splattered sauce, scattered napkins, menus, and crumpled paper bags decorated the kitchen in filth. I hadn’t done the dishes since then either. Despite ordering out I still used plates to eat on; an old habit from when I was a kid and afraid I’d eat the sauce soaked container along with the food. It was a silly thought, but it still gave me shivers.

I forgot all about the coffee and felt the urge to clean. I could smell the mold coming from the older containers and I was suddenly nauseated by it. I took out a garbage bag from under the sink and began throwing the cartons, napkins, and menus into it, at first tentatively, and then with a near obsessive haste. I felt surrounded by filth, and I needed to dispose of it.

After filling three garbage bags I went to the cupboard and got out some all purpose cleaner, which I emptied out over every possible square inch of surface I could see. I grabbed the roll of paper towels off of its dispenser and started to wipe up the cleaner and the grime on the floor. Even the seemingly clean spots turned up dark and dirty when I looked at the paper towel. When I finished with the floor I moved onto the countertop, then the stove, then the sink, then lastly the microwave. I felt relieved when I was done. Everything smelled like lemons.

Standing there admiring my handy work I realized I’d came into the kitchen originally for coffee, and after all of that excursion that sounded wonderful. I picked up the electric kettle and could feel water floating in it already, so I flipped on the switch. I dumped exactly two and three quarter scoops of a European dark roast into the French press and then went to the spice rack to look for the vanilla beans. My ex-girlfriend had been a coffee connoisseur, and she’d showed me how to make the perfect cup with the perfect flavorings. I was too accustomed to the refined taste now to go back to plain coffee.

I took out a mallet we’d bought exclusively for the vanilla beans. I placed the bean between two paper towels and deftly flicked my wrist and crushed the bean. This was just hard enough to crush it without squishing the juices out of it. I set the mallet down and opened the paper towels to reveal the bean and dropped the bean into the French press with the coffee grounds. The kettle whistled and I poured the boiling water into the French press. I let it sit for four minutes and twenty seconds, then poured the brewed coffee into a tall mug.

Next I went to the fridge to get out almond milk, vanilla soy milk, and whipping cream. I set the cream aside and put three tablespoons of both almond milk and the soy milk into the coffee. A drop of almond extract, a cube of sugar, a pinch of brown sugar, grated nutmeg and dark chocolate on top followed, and a cinnamon stick in place of a stir stick. And to finish it off, a quick yet precise pour of the whipping cream down the center of the cinnamon tube. This was the perfect cup of coffee.

I went back into the living room and sat back down on the couch. I sipped my coffee slowly and savored the bitter-sweetness in my mouth; nothing could ever compare to this. Despite everything that had happened to me the past few weeks, I felt pretty good.

I finished my coffee and remembered I still had to take out the garbage bags. I lugged the bags out into the hallway to find a notice saying the garbage shoot was closed for the week, so I went to the elevator to take it down manually. I was full of energy from the caffeine and was in some strange way glad that the chore was going to take extra effort and time. I suppose because I had no other purpose for the evening.

The elevator came unusually fast, and didn’t stop once on the way down to the ground floor. It was a nice change from the morning rush when we all crammed into the elevator like sardines. I hate the smell of everyone’s artificial scent blending together like a chemical sea. Perfume, cologne, aftershave, antiperspirant, hairspray, fabric, and softener residue mixed together into a toxic soup. I don’t understand what’s so wrong with regular human smell. Clean human smell of course, I don’t think human stink has any appeal over the chemicals.

I got off the elevator and went out the buildings back entrance. There were seven huge recycling bins, two large bins for garbage, and one bin that people moving in or out of the building used to throw away furniture. My ex-girlfriend and I had taken a book shelf, comfy chair and TV from that dumpster, all in practically perfect condition. It always amazed me what people were willing to throw away.

I tossed the garbage bags one by one into the metal garbage bins and heard them clunk against the bottom of it, which made the whole thing echo. I took a few paces from the bins and looked up at the night sky. The stars sparkled like little gems with no clouds to block my view of them. I took in a deep breath; the cool crisp autumn air was enlivening. I was mid-stretch when I heard a distant voice. I looked around, but no one was in sight.

“That’s dirty… You don’t think… jerk… blacklisted… I don’t need… I’ll find my own way home!” Came the voice again, growing closer but still fragmented. It was an elegant voice, full of fiery passion.

Tires screeched loudly down the street and the engine revved as the car drove off. I walked towards the sidewalk and road to see what’d happened; the entrance to my apartments’ underground parking had blocked my view. Before I got there, the girl came into view. Her natural height was accentuated by three inch pumps, which made her legs look as if they went on endlessly. She wore a mini skirt, grey tank top, and jean jacket along with cheap costume jewelry. The bangles on her wrist jingled every time she took a step. Her hair, a long mass of tight curls, tossed about to the beat of her jingling bracelets. She walked with her arms crossed, but for some reason she didn’t look overly upset.

I wasn’t sure why, but I kept walking towards her. I never did anything like this, I hate butting in on things that don’t concern me, but for some reason I just felt I had to. When she noticed me she turned to face me, dropped her crossed arms and clenched the strap of her shoulder bag; a cheap Gucci imitation that looked like it came from the dollar store.

“What do you want?” she asked, her eyes piercing into me. Her voice had a sharp edge to it.

“I, uh…” I was taken aback by her stare and her harsh tone. “I just heard, uh, a fight or something, I just wanted to, uh, make sure everything was OK.” A cold sweat broke all over me. I felt ridiculous, and my voice sounded like a quivering child’s.

“You wanna make sure everything’s OK?” she replied, mockingly.

“Uh, yeah. Is it? I mean, are you OK?” I wished I’d ignored this.

She kept staring at me, for what felt like forever, without saying a thing. Then out of nowhere she smiled, “You sure are an odd one,” she said with the air of a laugh. Her eyes lit up when she smiled, and she looked like a movie star. She took a pack of smokes from her bag, took out a cigarette and put it to her lips. “Want one?” she mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between her lips.

I shook my head, “No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, putting the pack away and lighting her cigarette.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Lupina,” she replied after some hesitation.

“That’s Spanish isn’t it?” I asked.

Lupina smiled again, her eyes radiant in the streetlamp light, “That’s right. It means Valley of the Wolves, at least that’s what my mama used to tell me when I was a little girl. And you?”

“And me what?” I asked.

She laughed, “What’s your name?”

“Oh,” I blushed. “Alec.”

“I ain’t sure ‘bout the name, but you’re pale as a ghost, so I’m guessing that’s European, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s English.” I said. “Mean’s something about defending the weak.”

“And do you defend the weak, Alec?” Lupina asked, taking a drag on her cigarette.

“Um, I don’t know really. I guess I am the weak if anything,” I said, shrugging. No one had ever asked me that before. She stood there, staring at me. I felt awkward in the silence, “What about you Lupina, you consider yourself a ‘Valley of Wolves’?”

“Well,” Lupina said, taking a moment to think. “No, no I don’t see it that way. I don’t consider myself to be a ‘Valley of Wolves,’ but I think it applies.”

“How?” I asked.

“A metaphor for my life, I guess. I seem to live amongst wolves; the jerk who just drove off for example.”

“Hm,” I replied, impressed.

“Maybe you’re looking at yourself in the wrong light too,” she added.

“Maybe I am,” I said, and couldn’t help but smile.

“So,” she began, dropping her cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it under her heel. “Y’looking for some company, Alec?”

“Oh, I, uh,” I felt the blood run to my cheeks and I knew I was blushing bright red. I hadn’t ever been propositioned by a prostitute before. “No, I’m uh, not. No.”

“Somehow I didn’t think so,” that gorgeous smile again. “Like I said, you’re odd.”

“Sorry,” I said, meekly.

“Don’t be. In this world odd is a refreshing surprise. I like odd.”

I smiled. It’s been a long time since anyone had complimented me like that. In fact, it’d been a long while since I’d had such a real conversation with someone. Lupina was fantastically real, absolutely herself. She didn’t hide behind a guise like the people in my office did, and didn’t play mind games; she spoke her mind and that made her beautiful.

“So,” I said.

“So,” she said.

We let a silence hang; a nice silence, one lacking the need for awkward jabber to fill the void. “So, what now?” I asked plainly.

“Well, for starters, where are we?”

“Oh, well, we’re right near Islington subway station — second stop from the last going west unless they’ve changed that in the past few years.”

“Nah, Islington is still second from the last,” she informed me. She took out another cigarette and lit it. “You drive?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Wanna give a poor lil’ maiden in distress a ride?” she said mockingly in a southern accent, batting her eyelashes.

I laughed and played along, “Why, sure little missy!” We both laughed. “So where to?” I asked, getting my giggles under control.

“Um, well I think I’m gonna call it a night for workin’. That guy really just… put me off,” her tone was bitter. She sighed, exhaling smoke. “I need to pay up for tonight, so we gotta go downtown, just off of Bathurst.” She puffed on her cigarette again, “You sure you don’t mind? I was just teasing, you don’t have to.”

I shrugged, “Got nothin’ else to do.”

“Tryin’ to piss off the missus?” she giggled.

“Nope. The missus already up and left two weeks ago,” I said, matter-of-factly.

I could see Lupina blush with embarrassment, “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything, I, jeez, foot in mouth.” she sucked back the last of her cigarette. It burned a bright red.

“Don’t worry about it, no harm done.”

Lupina smiled, and looked right into my eyes. I swear she was looking into my soul, “She’s a damn fool to leave a good guy like you.” She crushed the cigarette under her shoe right next to the first one, “A damned fool.”

We walked over to the garage entrance and I flashed my pass card against the sensor. It took three swipes before it registered. We walked down the steep slope to the underground parking lot. I was surprised at how well Lupina walked in her high heels, as if that’s just the way she’d been born to walk. Once we were on the level pavement I got that eerie feeling I always get when I’m down in this underground. I must’ve seen too many scary movies where someone gets abducted in one of these dimly lit concrete hell holes, because it always creeps me out. The overwhelming urine smell doesn’t help either.

We got to my car, a fifteen year old cherry red sports car that’d seen better days. Still, for its age, it ran beautifully and it wasn’t a gas guzzler. I unlocked the passenger door and held it open for Lupina. She gave me a coy look and a little smirk, which made a shiver run through me. After I closed the door for her I clenched my fist, sending all my nervous energy there. It dawned on me then that I always did this when I felt overwhelmed. I walked over to the driver’s door and climbed into the car with her.

“Sorry about the mess,” I said, embarrassedly pulling out a bag full of garbage from beneath her feet.

“No problem… Car’s got character.” she said, looking it over.

“I guess you could say that.”

“I guess I did,” she smiled.

We drove up the ramp, out into the night. Streetlamp light flooded in through the windshield, illuminating our legs, making her skin tone fishnets visible to me for the first time. Her skin was the color of a cream drenched mocha, and in these close quarters, she smelled like strawberries. I had to focus on driving to get my erection to go away. I was glad Lupina was looking out the window.

After I drove through the maze of suburban residential hell, I turned onto Bloor Street. Traffic was light, and the bar scenes were boisterous. Patio drinkers watched us as we drove past. We stopped at a red light next to a Karaoke bar that blared the loud back track for an eighties song I used to listen to a long time ago. I couldn’t remember the title of the song, but when I heard the amateur singing, the lyrics came back to me and I started to sing along.

“…And I’ll just fade away, from the pain of life today. Lost in the dark, with my broken heart, I will find a way, to make it up to you some day-ee-yay-ee-yay-ee-YAY-EE YEAH!”

The light turned green and I drove off. It was only then, as the music faded into the distance that I could hear Lupina’s clapping. I flushed; I’d never sung in front of anyone before.

“Bravo!” she said, still clapping.

“Uh, heh, thanks.”

“That was amazing. Y’ever think about going on one of those reality TV shows?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Hell no, you’re good. I ain’t heard good singing like that since I was a little girl. I used to sing in my mama’s church choir, and there was this kid there, and could he ever sing. He had the voice of an angel. He was really passionate when he sang too, just like you.”

“And what about you?” I asked.

“Me? Well, I can sing OK, I just never liked singing about Jesus,” she said, very matter-of -fact.

“Why’s that?” I inquired. I didn’t know many Canadians who weren’t saturated in Christian or Catholic beliefs.

“Christianity never rang true to me, y’know? Sorta like a fairy tale,” she shrugged.

“Hmm,” I said.

“Lemme guess, you’re Christian?” she asked, verging on a sigh.

“No, not really,” I replied casually.

“‘Not really’?”

“I wasn’t really raised Christian. My grandparents on both sides went to church, but my folks never took me to any sermons. Religion was an afterthought, a non-issue in our house,” I explained.

“So what do you believe, then?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what to believe. What happens after we die? I sure as hell don’t pretend to know.”

Lupina smiled and touched my arm with gentle fingers, “You’re a smart man, Alec.”

Before I had a chance to reply she’d turned on the radio and tuned it to a modern rock station. We listened to it for the rest of the drive downtown. I opened my window and let the cool night air dance through my hair.

Once we hit Bathurst street, Lupina guided me through some winding side-roads. All in all it wasn’t a half bad area. Besides the corner store which was covered in some graffiti, the houses were well kept and there weren’t any creepers walking the streets. I’d certainly expected a pimp house to be in a much grungier area of town.

“I’ll be back in a few,” Lupina said, opening her door.

“Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” I asked, still hesitant of the whole situation.

“Nah, its a’right. It’ll go faster this way. Thanks though,” with that she got out of the car and closed the door.

I watched her walk up the walkway and the patio stairs to the front door. As if she lived there she just walked in without knocking. I heard her muffled voice call out to see where anyone was. I couldn’t stop staring at the door. It was a beautiful real wood door with a brass knocker, the shape of a koi fish. I was absolutely transfixed on it, and it wasn’t until I realized that, that I was that I was able to sit back and take a deep breath.

Sitting there, waiting for Lupina, I suddenly wondered what it was that I was doing. Chauffeuring a prostitute around, what the hell was I thinking? I considered driving off right there and then, but that would be just plain rude. My mind began playing games, and I couldn’t stop thinking for some reason that they were arguing inside and that any second I would hear gun shots. I slapped myself to sober up my mind. Thoughts left to run rampantly alongside imagination are worse than booze, I thought. It was then it dawned on me that I was driving under the influence.

I pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, throwing the door shut behind me. I felt like I was falling apart at the seams. I leaned against the car and waited for Lupina to come back out. The only thing I could think about was how badly I wanted a drink.

A few minutes later the door opened and Lupina came out of the house, laughing heartily. I watched her as she stood on the porch, and a young man, maybe in his late twenties, stood in the doorway. He had a thin build, and wore a bandana and thick rimmed glasses. I was surprised that her pimp was a skinny geeky white guy, but then again, what does a pimp look like? I sure as hell didn’t know any pimps, so this was as good a depiction for one as any.

“G’night Baby doll,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“Night Mack,” Lupina replied and waved.

Mack went back inside the house as Lupina came up to me. “I hope I didn’t keep ya waiting,” she said, pulling her pack of smokes from her purse.

“No, not at all,” I said and watched her light her cigarette. “Baby doll, huh?”

“My work name,” she shrugged. “I don’t want people knowin’ more ‘bout me than they need to.”

“That’s probably a good thing considering your line of work,” I said, but it didn’t sound like my voice. I sounded like my father, disapproving and arrogant.

Lupina looked at me, her eyes tiny slits, as she blew smoke from between her lips. Then she calmly asked, “Are you OK?”

“Yes, I am, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

Lupina just kept looking at me with her prying eyes. I knew she knew there was more, and she knew that I knew that she knew that, and for some reason, that made me feel better. “Lupina,” I started, “I’m an idiot.” I had more to say, I wanted to explain that I was mad at myself, and that I didn’t mean to lash out at her, but I couldn’t find the words, so I stopped talking. That’s when she started laughing.

“Alec, you sure are one of a kind,” she grinned.

I smiled, “You too.”

“C’mon,” she said, indicating with a bob of her head for me to follow her.

“Where?” I asked as we started walking down the street.

Lupina just looked back at me with a smile and said nothing. She took my hand in hers and we walked in silence. After five minutes we arrived at a club, the music boomed out through the thick brick walls. It was late, a billboard switched between the temperature and time, and read 1AM, so there was no lineup. Lupina whipped out a twenty dollar bill, and the doorman stamped both of our hands with an invisible ink, then opened the door for us.

Inside I could hear next to nothing. The music was so loud it dissolved into a pulsating ebb that pounded in my body, and I felt it in my pulse. Bodies jumped and danced, bumped and ground against one another. Lupina guided me through the unified chaos, up to the bar. She said something I couldn’t hear, and planted another twenty on the countertop. A moment later the bartender produced two whiskey sours. Lupina handed me one and then tapped my glass with hers. We both drank the drinks quickly, as if they were shots. The music made me feel like I was high.

Lupina called to me with her eyes, and we wandered until we found a reasonable clearing on the dance floor. We both began jump dancing to the pounding of the drum beat. I lost myself in the deafening music, and in her eyes. My inhibitions fell away and I was as free as she was; I’d never felt better.

We danced the entire time, until they kicked us out at 3AM. We pooled out the doors with the other rave goers, and then broke away from the crowd. I was wet with sweat, and my heart was thumping violently. Adrenaline coursed through my veins; I felt like I was walking on air. A cool breeze washed over me, and it felt incredibly revitalizing.

I took Lupina’s hand in mine and tugged her gently aside. She looked up at me, happily surprised as far as I could tell. I said nothing, but gazed into those beautiful eyes. I brushed her cheek with my finger and she rubbed gently against it. I leaned in and kissed her; her lips were sweet like candy, and so soft. She kissed me back and I felt a warmth spread through me I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

After a long while she pulled away, “Come with me,” she said.

Lupina guided me through the city streets and into a local park. A homeless man lay asleep on one of the benches, but it was otherwise empty. She led me to the playground; it was one of the old models, which they had not yet substituted for the new generic cookie cutter crap. We climbed up onto the platform that connected the slide to the monkey bars, and laid down on its wooden planks.

“I love this place. I used to come here as a child all the time,” she paused and looked upward. “Aren’t the stars beautiful tonight?”

I looked up. The constellations were clear and sparkling against the indigo backdrop. “Stunning,” the words stole away through my lips.

We lay there, staring at the night sky, enraptured by the beauty of the stars. Time seemed to have come to a halt. The cars driving by either side of the park faded into a low dim hum. The leaves shook in a gentle sway as the wind danced through them. Fallen leaves were scrapping along the sidewalk in the distance. A single cricket played its song for us, and I wondered where it was.

“I could stay here forever,” I said.

“Me too,” Lupina said, squeezing my hand gently.

I turned my gaze onto Lupina. Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she stared up with wonder at the universe. “Lupina,” I said. She turned and looked at me. “Lupina I’m so glad we’ve met.”

“Me too,” she smiled, and reached up her other hand to run through my hair. I closed my eyes and let myself feel every bit of her touch.

“We’re lucky,” she said.

I opened my eyes and stared into hers, “Yes, we are.”

We stayed in the park until the stars began to fade, and the sun touched the horizon with hints of pink and gold. We walked back to my car, and I drove her back to my place. We slept the day away in each others’ arms; waking up just in time to watch the sun set. I made coffee, and we drank it as we watched the view from my balcony, holding hands.

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About the Creator

Amanda Rose

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ | ᴀᴄᴛᴏʀ | ᴄᴏᴀᴄʜ | ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇs

ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ sᴘᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ | ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʀᴇɴᴇᴜʀ

https://amanda-rose.mykajabi.com

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