I stood outside the building, feeling like some shit-eating, hard-boiled detective I’d seen before in an old black-and-white film, my overcoat billowing in the unwelcoming nighttime air. It was probably 10 o’clock and the sun had long since set. It seemed to be leaving us sooner and sooner each day since we stepped into September. The leaves were losing their green; I noticed the faintest hints of bronze whenever the sun hit them just right. I was simultaneously starstruck and horrified. The colder it got, the more isolated I’d become–or at least the more isolated I thought I might become. I don’t know.
I stood out on the balcony overlooking the lake. I was tired, but even worse I was bored. My laundry wouldn’t be done for another hour and my phone had been silent since noon. I’m used to it. Everyone’s busy. I’m busy. Why stress about it? It’s better to become invested in work around this time of the year anyways, they say. Deadlines and all that.
John came bursting through the door first. He was dressed in a leather jacket and dress pants, with his loafers swapped for sneakers and his tie slacked. He was grinning from ear-to-ear, but as always he had that intense look in his eyes.
“We’re going out to celebrate,” he said. “You coming?”
He asked me as if he was telling me. He had just won the election, although for what exact position I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care much. I wasn’t even sure people had taken it seriously.
“Hell yeah,” I said, smiling. “I’ve got time to kill.”
Marcus and Rowan were already with John, and Robert showed up last-minute. Apparently, they had tried to coerce Ed to come with them, but he was too busy writing his sociology essay on suicide or apathy or sympathy for yourself or some shit. Marcus had offered to drive us there and we clamored into his ten-year-old Jeep that smelled like leather and candle wax. Surprisingly, the three of us who sat in the back were comfortable.
John had wanted pizza from a specific place in town, but by the time we got there, they had closed a half-hour early. John made us cackle from yelling curse words and cock jokes at this poor building, while Marcus punched a parking sign and claimed it was an accident.
“Fuck it!” John exclaimed. “To the Golden Arches!”
We screamed and laughed into the night, running back into the Jeep and nearly getting broadsided by an oncoming bus when Marcus made an irresponsible U-turn in the middle of the street. There’s something about late night drives that I love. Maybe it’s because there’s less your eyes need to focus on. There’s something about how the sky meets the horizon and blends in a way that the only thing you’re left with are the bright lights of cars and distant buildings gleaming and practically reaching out to be amongst the stars. They’re just begging to reach as high as the stars. The moon does the opposite; it looks on like a contented hermit, accepting of its own unique existence and seeks no friends. It finds friendship in those who look on and find solace. Maybe this is why I love the moon as much as I love late night drives, this and the nostalgic feeling I get listening to the engine hum across the asphalt. You spend your entire life in a car and you don’t even realize it or appreciate it until this time of day.
“Oh, I love this song,” I said, although I didn’t really know which song it was. Definitely retro; brass instruments meet synthesizers while a high-pitched woman chants the same lyric for two minutes straight. That kind of music. Eventually we got too far along the highway and the only thing we heard was static. Marcus shut off the radio.
The bright yellow landmark that we anticipated was eventually in our sights.
We also noticed the other hungry drivers waiting in line. At least ten of them.
“Fucking hell,” I exclaimed. “How many fucking people need food this late?”
Robert laughed while John pulled out his wallet. Rowan was silent. Marcus started to turn into the parking lot and nearly came in through the exit as one of the customers was pulling out.
“I swear I’m not usually a bad driver,” he said exasperatedly, twisting the wheel. “Not used to this many people in the car.”
I believed him. I’m more inclined to trust other people behind the wheel than myself. I still didn’t have my license. Can you believe that?
“I’ve only got about twenty-five dollars,” John snapped. “Everybody keep it light!”
I didn’t even want any food, but by the time we reached the intercom I was more than willing to eat. The woman taking our order had a Hispanic accent and a sassy way of speaking that seemed to invigorate John.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” the woman started before we even had a chance to say anything. “We’re fifteen minutes from closing, so tell us what you want and we’ll tell you if we can make it or not.”
No point in arguing with a statement like that. John shook his head and asked us what we wanted. I always ordered the number nine–two cheeseburgers for the price of a number one. Seemed like the sensible thing to do. Meanwhile, Rowan was repeating the same request over and over again as though John hadn’t heard him the first four times. I only then realized that his eyelids looked as heavy as the clouds in the sky and that his mouth was hanging open for more than just a cheeseburger.
“Rowan,” I began. “Are you high right now?”
He didn’t say anything, only smiling. Smiling seemed to close his eyes even more; the happier he got, the less he saw. Isn’t that what we all want at the end of the day? Some blinding bliss? Not ignorant bliss—no, not that shit—because you want to keep your senses about you and know why you do what you do, at least that’s how I feel. Besides, “ignorance is bliss” is such an overused statement anyways. I instantly became jealous and wished that I was high, even though it was a Tuesday night and I typically left smoking for the weekends. Just wanted something to take the edge off. That probably wasn’t good either, was it?
John started yelling to the woman from the seat next to me.
“Extra fries,” I mumbled.
“What?” he asked.
“Extra fries!”
They never gave enough, or at least that’s how it always felt when you ate them. Something about the potatoes. They’re made from that uniqueness and exclusivity, something that leaves you wanting more. The woman at the window handed us our food with a nasty look, as if we were undeserving of these extra fries because of how late it was, but I didn’t hold it against her. We gorged ourselves, excluding Marcus—he only cared about the road now. There was nothing but darkness ahead of us and we had already decided we’d take the long way back to campus. What could be out there? What was ahead of us? We ask ourselves that day-in and day-out until the sun goes down and then the questions have a different layer to them. Layers of fear.
“Everyone, be quiet?!” I asked. “I just want to enjoy this moment.”
John put his hand on my thigh and gently caressed it. I didn’t tell him to stop, but my silence seemed to unnerve more than had I actually responded, and he quickly took his hand away. It wasn’t exactly what I was trying to enjoy, but it was something. I started looking over at Rowan and couldn’t help but think how cute he looked. Maybe it was John touching me that triggered this thought, or maybe I had thought it all along and was only just now addressing it. I can’t say for sure. I had some more questions to ask myself.
My phone went off.
“I love you,” it flashed.
My laundry had been done for over three hours.
At the time, I didn’t know how long it would be until this would be over.
“I love you too.”
I was blissfully blinded. Or was I?
More questions to ask myself as I flew through the dark, thinking only of the light.