Life.
021523
Followed by four digits that move too fast to read and four more that move too fast for the computer to update. I stare at this enchanting number above the entrance to Circuit City at Union Square and soon realize it's 2:15 AM.
It was one of those rare night shifts at the restaurant when everyone made a satisfactory amount of money without the necessary stress to justify an accomodating bar visit at closing time. As a result, I was wide awake late at night with no plans and amazing weather.
Eager to appreciate the 87-degree April day, I soon found my back against the stone structure of my favorite city park, and my head against the soft cushioning of my backpack--my body in a complete horizontal recline as if sleeping in a bed in my apartment many miles away, allowing itself to be tucked in by thin blankets of soothing winds.
My favorite part was the sounds. Monday night, 2.a.m., this might just be the quietest I'll ever experience the city from the fun vantage point of Union Square. Instead of twenty bike-riders, I have two that do their last few laps before heading home. In place of hundreds of vehicles constantly blasting horns and sirens, I have just a few dozen gentle buzzing engnies going by every now and then. Where usually reigns a selection of activists on megaphones, there's maybe ten scattered souls chatting quietly with friends. Together they form an unruffled soundtrack to a very peaceful late night--the urban counterpart for warm waves splashing against the fresh sands of an ocean shore.
I lose myself in the comfort of my late night outdoor nap, stare straight up into the stars, and I pose the following question for myself:
"What have you accomplished? What are your goals?"
"What, Laney B., is the meaning of your life?"
With that, I focus on the brightest star of them all, and have powerful visions:
I see myself draped in a towel, pleased at the reflection of myself in a locker room mirror after weeks of heavy workouts.I see myself in a classroom full of young scholars that all share my flair for producing a pleasing prose.I see myself walking the sidewalks of New York City with a friend, and after about ten minutes--telling her that I love it here and I need to visit again some day.I see myself helping animals. And people, too.I see myself with my girlfriend, telling her how I adore her, playfully fondling the folds of her body, and at that moment, wishing I could spend every morning this way.I see myself visiting my grandparents' house only to find that they weren't home, and then deciding to cook the last of the food that they purchased and leaving a note telling them exactly what I did.
Lastly, I see myself at age five, looking up at me and saying:
"You've done great with yourself. You're not perfect, and no one is. But you've accomplished a lot in life and you've made me proud.
"I love you."
And with that, the star starts illuminating, alternating between its previous state and a shine much brighter than I'd seen in a long time.
I continue my stare into the sky, smile, and look towards the clock above Circuit City.
025257
2:52 AM? It's time to go home, now.
Followed by four digits that move too fast to read and four more that move too fast for the computer to update. I stare at this enchanting number above the entrance to Circuit City at Union Square and soon realize it's 2:15 AM.
It was one of those rare night shifts at the restaurant when everyone made a satisfactory amount of money without the necessary stress to justify an accomodating bar visit at closing time. As a result, I was wide awake late at night with no plans and amazing weather.
Eager to appreciate the 87-degree April day, I soon found my back against the stone structure of my favorite city park, and my head against the soft cushioning of my backpack--my body in a complete horizontal recline as if sleeping in a bed in my apartment many miles away, allowing itself to be tucked in by thin blankets of soothing winds.
My favorite part was the sounds. Monday night, 2.a.m., this might just be the quietest I'll ever experience the city from the fun vantage point of Union Square. Instead of twenty bike-riders, I have two that do their last few laps before heading home. In place of hundreds of vehicles constantly blasting horns and sirens, I have just a few dozen gentle buzzing engnies going by every now and then. Where usually reigns a selection of activists on megaphones, there's maybe ten scattered souls chatting quietly with friends. Together they form an unruffled soundtrack to a very peaceful late night--the urban counterpart for warm waves splashing against the fresh sands of an ocean shore.
I lose myself in the comfort of my late night outdoor nap, stare straight up into the stars, and I pose the following question for myself:
"What have you accomplished? What are your goals?"
"What, Laney B., is the meaning of your life?"
With that, I focus on the brightest star of them all, and have powerful visions:
I see myself draped in a towel, pleased at the reflection of myself in a locker room mirror after weeks of heavy workouts.I see myself in a classroom full of young scholars that all share my flair for producing a pleasing prose.I see myself walking the sidewalks of New York City with a friend, and after about ten minutes--telling her that I love it here and I need to visit again some day.I see myself helping animals. And people, too.I see myself with my girlfriend, telling her how I adore her, playfully fondling the folds of her body, and at that moment, wishing I could spend every morning this way.I see myself visiting my grandparents' house only to find that they weren't home, and then deciding to cook the last of the food that they purchased and leaving a note telling them exactly what I did.
Lastly, I see myself at age five, looking up at me and saying:
"You've done great with yourself. You're not perfect, and no one is. But you've accomplished a lot in life and you've made me proud.
"I love you."
And with that, the star starts illuminating, alternating between its previous state and a shine much brighter than I'd seen in a long time.
I continue my stare into the sky, smile, and look towards the clock above Circuit City.
025257
2:52 AM? It's time to go home, now.