(June 9, 2010)

The internet has been out for the last few days. Spotty cell coverage too. It was strange, not to have the outlet of the blog, especially as this situation I’m in continues to spiral to funny places.

Two days ago was quiet, as if a breath of fresh air, a gasp as I surfaced from the water, the depths still murky, but inviting.

Yesterday I resumed my position at the front window, curling tight within the comfort of my own home again. Sometimes even the nights get cold.

Evening had passed, the easy purple glow that had fallen had moved along, replaced by the thick black again, orange street lamps overtook control over the light. I wondered if something else had overtaken control of the dark.

I was getting sleepy, and the hour was approaching two in the morning when I saw movement that didn’t line up with the earlier movement I’d seen, students coming and going, the suggestion of a get together across the parking lot.

This was different. This was fleeting and quick, from tree to tree. Fully awake, I turned to what I could see of the grassy area on the other end of the apartment, mostly dark.

The trees were still, hardly a breeze. The hot air was falling hard tonight, resting fast.

My window was open but I didn’t hear a sound. Barely the rustle of the cars passing by from the other side of my home. Tuesday at two in the morning, even in the summertime, is quiet.

Ten minutes went by. Then thirty. Time goes slower when you have no basis for comparison, no clock, nothing happening. One moment grows into the next, interchangeable, when one is the same as the last, how long has it been? Longer? Shorter?

I was fighting against sleep again, my eyelids heavy. Sometimes I’d let them rest for a few seconds (that might have turned into a few minutes, again with the interchangeability and the new unconsciousness.

Something brought be back, my heart pounding again. A single rap on the front door. A knock, a violent but brief report.

I stared at it. No one walked to my front door. The motion would have woken me up – of course, they could have come through from the street-side I suppose, so it wasn’t necessarily… odd.

Maybe it was even Kyle.

But that feeling was growing funny. It didn’t taste quite right. But I had enough anger built up in my chest that I let it go. Some things are easier to hold on to than others I suppose. Anger and loneliness are far easier than the insubstantial, the mysterious, the ethereal.

I stayed awake again, alert, attentive, ready. Though it seemed the last two instances had come while I was half awake, even on the border of sleep, not fully processing, or even imagining. My own imagination toying with me? Perhaps best, I thought, if I go to bed and get some real sleep, let my curiosity down easy.

So I did. The rest of the night was quiet. And that was okay.