Again

I feel tonight strongly, or feel strongly tonight, or something.  It's good and bad.  I wait for the car to leave, and then turn away from my apartment.  I want to throw something, very badly, but I don't have anything to throw I wouldn't regret.  Shoe?  No.  So I do a little fake throw of my phone, laugh, and walk out to the familiar wooden footbridge where I slump to the ground.  I try to get people to stop texting me-- I just want to play some music. It's a small selection, and I haven't added much since I inherited it from my brother, but I'm really glad he put a Band of Horses album on here.  Last summer at camp, this phone was my only way to listen to music.  Tonight I listen to the same four songs I always do:  Blue Beard, Evening Kitchen, Infinite Arms, and On My Way Back Home.  I vividly recall being alone in the cabin or out on the soccer field on Friday nights, feeling so at peace after a full week of counseling, listening to Band of Horses.  The phone's single speaker has a tinny, hollow sound to it, but I prefer it to a nice set of headphones sometimes; the music joins my surroundings without overpowering them.  And my surroundings are beautiful.  Fireflies drift lazily along the path, the same color and size as the stars.  The cool summer air brushes my skin gently.  The music is bringing Center Lake here, now... but not just Center Lake anymore.  Wyoming, McCormick, Cran-Hill, and more and more and more.  My whole life is here and I'm drowning in the emotion, wondering who I am and why I'm alive.

The last song plays out and I should get up.  Instead I flop face down in the middle of the bridge.  The wood smells good.  And then I get up.  I catch a firefly on the way back.  It's beautiful, but I let it go.