All I need

At night, when I need to ease the dull ache of depression, I like to jump in my car, crack the windows for a small breeze and head down to Broad Street. I wish there were more places like that around here, so I wouldn't feel so strange.

Miles Davis, a bootleg of a man and an art I know nothing about, playing in the background, while I mosey up and down the road. I'm in no rush to get somewhere. Twenty is all right. The destination is not the point.

The shadows and lights of life outside play in my field of vision. This music seems to go on forever, no climax, no place to go, no rush. It doesn't let you know that it'll end.

The tension eases. I stopped worrying about being seen, and I lean into my seat so comfortably. Like taking a drag, not for the nicotine, but the sucking in and blowing out that makes you relax. An excuse and a ritual to step outside whatever walls you happen to be sitting in.

I can't explain what happens. It could be just flashes and harmonies, a gentle massage to my brain. Maybe it is the fantasy of having my own personal theme song as I roll along my years and memories. A fucking lubricant for the transition from one act to another.

Didn't they always play this music in the movies, when the hero has a moment's peace, enough time to heal, stopped running, gained his bearings and got some rest?

I used to take showers when I was a boy. Hours of showers until the hot water ran out and until my body didn't notice the cold anymore. Let the tub fill up, and it would be just me and that sound. The rain storm of my mind would dance on my freshwater lake.

Weightless in my bath, I am still. Even the walls disappear. No cast iron knocks, just muffled thumps, a far away noise of life.

I was free from my sadness, because no one would know. You can't cry in the rain. You're not crying when you can't be seen.

Why is it emotions only do damage when someone else sees? I scream and dance and holler and hurt so much better when I feel safe.

Water sprinkles over my windshield. The rain must love me. I don't roll up the windows. It's not hard, I won't get wet anyway. Why do people dread the rain? It’s always been so good to me. Makes me feel like I am being held.

Faces and figures pass as silhouettes, like ads, but not cheap ones. Instead of the Gap, I see the beauty of a curve. Instead of Gatorade, some kids zips through the rain on a bike too small for his frame.

Now I know why we slip so easily, hating yourself for not having what you don't want anyway. A primal reaction, you do what they say; because they say it’s what you want to do.

Now I will evolve. I will change by letting go. The rain and Miles and the hum of a car and the whispering shouts of life on this old boulevard by this old river that made up a time and place I won't find anywhere else in the universe. All of this will let me do it.

It will be the start of a new reality in my head and the feeling of freedom from my aches starts tingling in my chest, my limbs, fingers and toes.

The streetlights fade at an opening in the trees. I see the Milky Way, so bright away from our light. The swing of the galaxy, and I can see my place in all that up there. It wasn’t God cavemen saw in the sky. They looked up there and shouted, “Hey, look at me.”

Screeching is the sounds of a trumpet distorted by a bad download. A "5" changes back to a "1" on my factory installed CD player in a car I still have 37 monthly payments. Miles might as well have run out of breathe.

I’m awake now. The last bits of my escape are shaken off by the "thump-thump" of railroad tracks. I see a churchy crowd coming out of a Greek restaurant curiously placed among strip clubs, although it’s probably the other way around.

The nice folks mingle with the regretful soldiers, the thugs, the lonely perverts and bi-curious housewives. The nice folks don't need to worry. A cop is watching in a patrol car parked under the streetlights.

Traffic slows for fear of a speeding ticket, and I turn on my blinker. A girl on a cell in front of the Discothèque coquettishly waves at a car horn and rolls her eyes before heading back in.

Where did I learn a word like coquettishly?

One U-turn and I'm heading back over the tracks, going towards home. For a moment I think they should put more highways by the sea. I wish I could feel the rhythm of a horse’s slow, gentle jostles and thumps.

Is it ironic to identify with a cliché? Dammit, I wish this road would never have to end and all my wishing and wondering would fade away.

Now back in the world, I am actually wondering where I thought I was going this whole time, wasting all this gas. I realize its somewhere I didn't get to. The ache sets in. I'll tough it out, no more Miles, time for metal, but for some reason I turn the volume way down.

The rain stops and I see steam from nowhere I care about and the smell of humid sewers hit my nose.

A bar like many others is passed, good times and good conversation – some of the times. Maybe a drink will help me sleep, knock me out, an empty sleep with no dreams.

"Dreams?" I whisper. “I think I'll have a flying dream tonight.”

It’s all I need. I suffer a soft mechanical hum. Miles plays again, and I am free.