The Only Dark Is My Own

It was Tuesday, the most average of all the weekdays, when the challenge was presented to me. I awoke as usual to the default blare of the clock radio alarm, with a firm tap down on the tacky rubberized button spanning the length of its top. Gentle, methodic movements led me to become upright, first in bed and then standing next to it, toes wriggling briefly in the scratchy shag before being inserted into clogs, fleece matted down and worn smooth under the heel from years of wear. The twist and give of the carpet underfoot gave way to the slick and unyielding push of tile underneath as I entered the bathroom, where although it was impossible to feel the chill through the soles of my clogs, I could sense the change immediately, sounds echoing around me.

Having crisply slid forward a button on the side of the clock radio before walking away, I listened with mild interest as the gentle and somewhat overly calm voice coming from the next room described the ongoing uncertainty facing the 150 people who had tried to fly out of Athens and ended up center stage of an international incident. Every bit of coverage so far focused on what the hostage standoff meant, for the Middle East and Reagan and airport security, but never once what it felt like, to be disoriented and afraid and the sense of isolation you would have even in the crowded tubular belly of a plane when you didn’t quite understand who was there and why. I tried to imagine it myself and got the fear part right away, but lost my way dreaming of what it would be like, crouched into a scratchy airline seat listening intently to shouted words echoing around you. It was enough to make someone swear off air travel, but this particular situation had little bearing on my future: I had never boarded a plane and had no intention of doing so, regardless of the political scenario are the destination. Athens may have well been the moon to me, and news surrounding flights taking place in such faraway lands had mattered as much to me as decisions around the future of the space program. My world, contained neatly and simply, would never brush up against such intrusions.

Careful steps delivered me – now washed, brushed, and neatly dressed in slacks despite the heat – to the front door. I ran a hand firmly down my front, smoothing back hair, checking the corners of my mouth for spare bits of toothpaste, folding the collar of my short sleeve shirt into place before grasping the knob in a fluid movement and stepping outdoors. Rough cement, one broad crack in the center, two steps down to the sidewalk and I was well on the way to my bus stop. The sun beat down gently on my face while bursts of air from passing cars buffeted me from both directions. At this early hour, aside from the hum of vehicle motors and occasional chatter drifting from an open window, there was little sound to distract me. Three times striding over a curb cut with a steady and reliable electronic beep acting as a shepherd, I eased around the front of the glass box surrounding the bus stop and sat gingerly on the bench. Settling in, I patiently began to run through my shopping list in my head while I waited the several minutes before the correct bus arrived, knowing I had as always planned well and would not need to rush, even if the bus had for once miraculously run on time today.

“When you lie in bed at night, does it matter whether your eyes are open or closed?”. I jumped, twist to the right where the voice came from. Truly startled, the words I kept readily available to address such questions were lost as I grappled with the larger question of how I had let myself be surprised. I had felt no warmth, sensed no change in air pressure, heard no rustle of fabric or scuff of a show that would typically reveal the presence of another person in such a small space. The bus stop was often, but not always, empty at this early hour so I kept my usual vigilance when entering. Still unable to fully tell the source of the question, I reached back into my mid for the well-rehearsed reply I kept prepared for such scenarios, firm and slightly upbeat, not inviting further questions but certainly not containing any sass or hint of teasing; confrontation may be the only thing suiting me less than surprises. Before I could open my mouth however, the voice went on. “I suppose it would, there is always that bit of background light to disturb you even still. Never mind that you still like the lovely sensation of letting your eyelids fall heavy as you settle in for the night”. I closed my mouth, which had parted slightly at some point of this brief exchange. Swallowing, I could only muster the ability to say, with a voice underlined with a hint of a tremor “That’s not exactly the kind of thing I share readily”. A slight chuckle, more of an exhale than a laugh. “You don’t share much readily, do you Charlie? So you can’t blame someone for an honest question”. Now truly at a loss, I paused the small back-and-forth journey my cane was scraping across the gap in the sidewalk block, which generated a reliable ticking noise and gentle vibration up the handle that I found soothing.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” I managed to say in a neutral, measured voice. I was wary of anyone who knew my name but didn’t know (or care about) me enough to not surprise me, nevertheless to utter potentially wounding questions. I had lived long enough to understand that such queries are simply an attempt to put crowbar into the door of me, wrenching complex feelings to the forefront, rarely with good intent. “Let’s say we have,” the voice replied, declining to give an introduction or a hint of context, “since I know you well enough to know you’re in need of a little shake-up, Charlie boy, from the careful dull path you’ve built through days. A little action, let’s say, a little activity would do you some good. You built this routine to keep more than just a sense of physical safety as you navigate the world. But wouldn’t a little amusement be welcome? A little fun for once?” I paused, flushing now, at a loss to say anything aside from a few stammered words about the bus’s imminent arrival. “Let’s not worry about the bus” the voice said now, flatly, “That’s the exact thing I’m talking about. There will be another bus, but maybe there won’t be another time for this conversation”. I shifted on the hard seat of the bench, befuddled into submission now and maybe, just maybe, by the shy spark of curiosity growing in my chest. “Well, “I managed “what’s the importance of this conversation then?”.

“I’m glad you asked, it’s nice to have this become a bit of a rapport. Let’s just start off with me finally introducing myself as Bez, and saying I have an interest in amusement. And you seem like a man in desperate need of some amusement”. Bez, I thought briefly, was hardly a name, but he plowed on. “It would be a lovely thing, don’t you think, for you to break your routine and have a little fun for once? Something to add a little, let’s not say color but maybe flavor, back to your days”. I remained still, unsure if this was entirely underpinned by some intent of mockery, from a strangely-named person I couldn’t recall, who unnervingly knew both an old nickname and seemingly a lot about my daily life. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to shake it up, maybe really shake it up, you do a complete opposite? Not grocery on Wednesday instead of Tuesday, but maybe get the whole day off on a different track. Have you heard of The Hound?”. I nodded vaguely, now sure this was simply a meddlesome stranger hired for some reason by the ramshackle bar settled almost halfway between my house and the bus stop. The smell of stale beer and fresh cigarettes made it an easy notable point on my daily walks, reliably guiding me as it was an all-hours sort of place, catering to the night shift and other sorts who decided that 8AM was a happy sort of hour on its own. Why The Hound would need someone to drum up business at bus stops was beyond me, but then many things in this modern era were. One couldn’t even count on making it home from a Grecian holiday any more.

“So, this is to get me to go to The Hound tonight?”. That strange not-quite-laughter again, but even after a pause, no response. I felt dizzy through the tip of my nose, and standing quickly I bumped my way out of the bus shelter. Turning towards the direction of home, I hesitantly listened for the steady high-pitched squeal of brakes, signaling the arrival of the bus that would just as easily whisk me away from this morning oddity. The dizzy feeling was subsiding but a heavy feeling in the center of my chest, slowly building pressure to the base of my nose, took its place. I was unmoored, leaving the exact path I had planned for my day, and nearly lost my footing tuning around. The sudden fierce rush of air coming by let me know I had wandered closer to the curb than I imagined, and now a hot wave flushed up the back of my neck and ears. Now sickened and feeling the rare-to-me emotion of anger, I half-shouted back towards the bus shelter “That’s an awful lot of trouble you’re trying to go through to get a man to a cheap bar for god-knows-what reason!” panting slightly, my volume lowering and speaking more to myself than anything I continued “I know what’s best for me, spent years making sure I did. Tired of hearing that it’s important to try something new, be different, go somewhere. I know where I want to go and right now it’s going to be back home.” Swallowing, harder than I thought I would, I placed a foot forward, making my step down a bit harder to give the impression of confidence. A decisive step, for a decisive man who knew well what he needed.

As I took small steps back towards home, scuffing my feet on the uneven pavement and wondering how I’d start my day without my shopping, I heard the voice once more, clear as someone was speaking next to my ear, leaning in to make a statement in confidence. “But you already are going somewhere different than you planned, and feeling a whole new set of feelings. And who ever said it was for your own good?”

The only sound as I stilled to stop on the sidewalk was the rustle of old leaves and an empty discarded can scraping along the pavement, rustling in the cool wind that gently ruffled across my back and reddened cheeks.