You can hear it. A dull roar from here, but even across the bay, behind the small juts of land that separate me from the true ocean, I can still hear it tonight. This morning. Now. My breath dances in front of my face, performing for the stars that speckle the clear sky above.
I can see the wind tickling the water below me... lights from the homes and warehouses surrounding the black icy sea reflect quietly.
And something annoying just stopped screeching in the distance. Some machine, doing its job has settled down for the night and I sit here, with only the Blackbird to keep me warm, out at the edge of a ... I'd like to say cliff, but that would be an insult to cliffs. It's the end of the parking lot where Snowflake parks her car each night. Behind me she and Panda are settling in for the night inside the warm sea-side apartment.
Me, I wanted one more look at her. Or at least part of her. Atlantic. She is beautiful as she is awesome, and I use the latter in its strictest form. The raw power that stretches out before me, the world that flirts with mine own. If I were born in another time and place, I would have been a sailor. An explorer. I would be the man who dared to cross her.
This trip has been fun. And surreal. And when I'm safely back in Columbus, I will post about the little things. I will tell of my adventures with a defunct airline and all such insanity.
But tonight I sit and my fingers grow numb from the biting chill that sweeps against this rock. Bundled up as best I can, I'm taking a few moments to enjoy the view, which you can imagine in the night isn't much to look at, but it's still more breathtaking than most things I will glance upon this week. I can hear the buoys in the water. And far across the bay, a lighthouse winks at me.
I wave. And notice the small light show happening before me. Tiny blinkers, appearing in the darkness and vanishing like ghosts. There is a symphonic pattern to their madness, but I can't yet make it out.
My fingers are colder still. Almost to the point where I will begin mistyping more and more. But I don't care. I'm stubborn sometimes. Thought not thoroughly. I did not actually wade in or touch the ocean on this trip. I stood at its doorstep and let it sing to me. But the ice off-shore and my friends' intelligent suggestions kept me from being completely mental this weekend. I wanted to. To wade in. Would've froze to death or at least suffered for my desires, so I respected Atlantic and her icy grip and I stood just out of reach. And the waves crashed up against the rocks and after a polite acknowledgement of each other, I climbed back up the rocky bluff and promised to return when she warmed more to me.
I do love the ocean.
Didn't realize it so much until I was standing right beside it. Hopping along the rocks like a kid. No fear. No worry of slipping or nervousness from the approaching tide. Just felt at home. Felt real. I felt brave.
I think if I could see the ocean every day, well... no power in the 'verse could stop me.
I'm going to finish this one inside. There used to be a bench here and I think it didn't survive the snowplow this winter so I'm sitting on the edge of the parking lot. Literally. On the ground. My ass is freezing.
Did you hear that? Seagulls... crying or playing in the distance. I didn't know they stayed up as late as me.
...
I'm in Snowflake's kitchen now. She's fast asleep (though she's bogarted my air-mattress) and Panda has just finished packing and is settling himself in on the couch. We leave for the airport in six hours and in about 14 or so, I'll be home. Back to my life.
I read Keaton's late night posting before heading out into the cold night. And he asked his readers to write about their 'other life'. I can only interpret that to mean the life I might have led. What could've been. Or maybe just the life that somewhere in some other universe I do lead. Down the rabbit hole, he said.
I live by the ocean. And everyday I walk or ride my bike to a small cafe, one of those ones that's run by the same couple who have run it for fifty-seven years. They know me. I remind them of their grandson. I am likened to the grandson of so many people that the sentiment seems sweet and not at all intrusive. It's early. I'll eat a light breakfast there as I do everyday and watch the surf smash against the beach. I have my laptop, but I never use it here. Instead, I read a book -- this time of year it's Bradbury. My sixteenth time through "Fahrenheit 451" since I was twelve.
That's one rabbit hole. It was nice. I try another.
I lean back in my chair, my feet stretched out onto my bed in my shoebox studio. My lover stirs under the covers. An arm stretches out to find me and caresses my pillow instead. I smile at being wanted, but I can't crawl into bed just yet. My latest draft is due in the morning and I'm on the last scene. My professor needs my words, not my reasons for abandoning my work, even if it would be for another passion. The night is warmer than I expected. I slink to the fridge to get another Coke. The caffeine might, I delude myself, fuel the characters in my head to find their ending. But before I open the can, a soft moan wafts across the room. Frak it. The Coke back in the fridge, I slip beneath the covers for better inspiration.
And so that journey continues.
There are so many possibilities as to who I could be. But really, for me, what matters is who I am and who I will be. I control that. I can make my own rabbit holes. Live by the ocean? I can up and move. If I want to be in school, I only need apply and see where it gets me. I firmly believe that life is what we make it.
It's late. Another hour plus has passed and I should be asleep. Traveling in the morning and maybe catching a baseball game after I land. Or maybe visiting some auditions. Or perhaps none of the above. Been kind of winging it lately. And that terrifies me a bit because as those who know me know, I love to plan. My Google calendar is wildly overused. And yet in recent weeks I've been more apt to go with the flow in my own way. In another rabbit hole, I'm spontaneous. And I laugh at myself more and I'm not afraid of what other people think. And I gamble even when I might lose. And I love, even when I might lose that too. In another world, I am brave.
I can see the wind tickling the water below me... lights from the homes and warehouses surrounding the black icy sea reflect quietly.
And something annoying just stopped screeching in the distance. Some machine, doing its job has settled down for the night and I sit here, with only the Blackbird to keep me warm, out at the edge of a ... I'd like to say cliff, but that would be an insult to cliffs. It's the end of the parking lot where Snowflake parks her car each night. Behind me she and Panda are settling in for the night inside the warm sea-side apartment.
Me, I wanted one more look at her. Or at least part of her. Atlantic. She is beautiful as she is awesome, and I use the latter in its strictest form. The raw power that stretches out before me, the world that flirts with mine own. If I were born in another time and place, I would have been a sailor. An explorer. I would be the man who dared to cross her.
This trip has been fun. And surreal. And when I'm safely back in Columbus, I will post about the little things. I will tell of my adventures with a defunct airline and all such insanity.
But tonight I sit and my fingers grow numb from the biting chill that sweeps against this rock. Bundled up as best I can, I'm taking a few moments to enjoy the view, which you can imagine in the night isn't much to look at, but it's still more breathtaking than most things I will glance upon this week. I can hear the buoys in the water. And far across the bay, a lighthouse winks at me.
I wave. And notice the small light show happening before me. Tiny blinkers, appearing in the darkness and vanishing like ghosts. There is a symphonic pattern to their madness, but I can't yet make it out.
My fingers are colder still. Almost to the point where I will begin mistyping more and more. But I don't care. I'm stubborn sometimes. Thought not thoroughly. I did not actually wade in or touch the ocean on this trip. I stood at its doorstep and let it sing to me. But the ice off-shore and my friends' intelligent suggestions kept me from being completely mental this weekend. I wanted to. To wade in. Would've froze to death or at least suffered for my desires, so I respected Atlantic and her icy grip and I stood just out of reach. And the waves crashed up against the rocks and after a polite acknowledgement of each other, I climbed back up the rocky bluff and promised to return when she warmed more to me.
I do love the ocean.
Didn't realize it so much until I was standing right beside it. Hopping along the rocks like a kid. No fear. No worry of slipping or nervousness from the approaching tide. Just felt at home. Felt real. I felt brave.
I think if I could see the ocean every day, well... no power in the 'verse could stop me.
I'm going to finish this one inside. There used to be a bench here and I think it didn't survive the snowplow this winter so I'm sitting on the edge of the parking lot. Literally. On the ground. My ass is freezing.
Did you hear that? Seagulls... crying or playing in the distance. I didn't know they stayed up as late as me.
...
I'm in Snowflake's kitchen now. She's fast asleep (though she's bogarted my air-mattress) and Panda has just finished packing and is settling himself in on the couch. We leave for the airport in six hours and in about 14 or so, I'll be home. Back to my life.
I read Keaton's late night posting before heading out into the cold night. And he asked his readers to write about their 'other life'. I can only interpret that to mean the life I might have led. What could've been. Or maybe just the life that somewhere in some other universe I do lead. Down the rabbit hole, he said.
I live by the ocean. And everyday I walk or ride my bike to a small cafe, one of those ones that's run by the same couple who have run it for fifty-seven years. They know me. I remind them of their grandson. I am likened to the grandson of so many people that the sentiment seems sweet and not at all intrusive. It's early. I'll eat a light breakfast there as I do everyday and watch the surf smash against the beach. I have my laptop, but I never use it here. Instead, I read a book -- this time of year it's Bradbury. My sixteenth time through "Fahrenheit 451" since I was twelve.
That's one rabbit hole. It was nice. I try another.
I lean back in my chair, my feet stretched out onto my bed in my shoebox studio. My lover stirs under the covers. An arm stretches out to find me and caresses my pillow instead. I smile at being wanted, but I can't crawl into bed just yet. My latest draft is due in the morning and I'm on the last scene. My professor needs my words, not my reasons for abandoning my work, even if it would be for another passion. The night is warmer than I expected. I slink to the fridge to get another Coke. The caffeine might, I delude myself, fuel the characters in my head to find their ending. But before I open the can, a soft moan wafts across the room. Frak it. The Coke back in the fridge, I slip beneath the covers for better inspiration.
And so that journey continues.
There are so many possibilities as to who I could be. But really, for me, what matters is who I am and who I will be. I control that. I can make my own rabbit holes. Live by the ocean? I can up and move. If I want to be in school, I only need apply and see where it gets me. I firmly believe that life is what we make it.
It's late. Another hour plus has passed and I should be asleep. Traveling in the morning and maybe catching a baseball game after I land. Or maybe visiting some auditions. Or perhaps none of the above. Been kind of winging it lately. And that terrifies me a bit because as those who know me know, I love to plan. My Google calendar is wildly overused. And yet in recent weeks I've been more apt to go with the flow in my own way. In another rabbit hole, I'm spontaneous. And I laugh at myself more and I'm not afraid of what other people think. And I gamble even when I might lose. And I love, even when I might lose that too. In another world, I am brave.
Figuring it out. April 2008. Cape Elizabeth, Maine.
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