He Found Himself

He found himself leaning out of his window into the warm summer breeze, which blew cigarette drags slowly away. He saw the people walking below, not noticing his own universe just a few feet above in the air. He could feel the beauty of the world swirl around him, like he was being submerged into cool, cool water. Like ice. It was almost too cold. He took another puff of his cigarette and inhaled the smoke deeply.

He was 20 years old. He came from a town called Warren, New Jersey. He had lived there his entire life, and he hated it. As far as he was concerned, he felt like a character in a Salinger book, living in that place. It was almost as bad as, say, the entire state of Connecticut. It was always sunlight in Warren, but the light was always a little splintered. There were cracks in this town, and he was one of them.

The air felt like the warm summer wind that gently whispers the hint of rain, in an unintelligible, silently understood language between the atmosphere and the boy's imagination. The trees were all dark, forest green. Lushly green. Green was his favorite color, but only in a very accidental way. He wanted to run away. He wanted to leave Warren, and he wanted to see the Pacific Ocean. He wanted to see the world. But then, he suddenly felt tired, and realized he just might get some sleep tonight, if he went to bed now. A good lonely night's sleep, how rare. So he asked his blanket if it would be his wife, and he fell asleep kissing the pillow.

The night passed on without him.

In the morning, his window tried staring down the sun, but lost, and the millions of photons bouncing off his eyelids finally jostled him awake. So much for getting lots of sleep. He needed to get some damn blinds. Will I be grateful when I die? I hope so. I don't want to go against my will. What a sense of mortality. Of human finitude. Why do people take speed? Why would you want to fast forward through any of this precious time?

He woke. He decided he'd run away to New York today. It wasn't too far away. He could do it. So he dressed, cast one handflip to try and order his long, unruly Beatles-haircut, and then he was out the door, catching the train, catching another train, getting off at Penn Station. It could only be good times from now on. At least today.

He wanted to call a girl he knew in this city. He pulled out the paper address book he always kept in his back pocket. He found the number of a mutal friend, and called him. Yeah. Yeah. 4? OK. 4, right? Alright, got it. Thanks, man. Yeah, definitely. Alright, later. And he called up one of the girls he knew that lived in the city. An electronic approximation of her voice answered. It's me. Yeah. I'm in the city! I know! Oh, seriously? Oh, totally, don't even worry about it. Yeah, it's no big deal. Hah, right. Some other time then! Alright, bye. No go. Her "friend" was in town. Mmm-hmm.

He decided he'd just walk around New York alone. He didn't need companionship. He didn't need help. He heard the sound of an ice cream truck in the distance. Ah, summer in the city! The light, friendly tinkling of the ice cream truck, come to signal delicious tasty ice cream and frozen treats, for only 50 cents! What? A dollar? Since when? Since when was this shit a dollar? This has always been 50 cents! When I was a kid, it was 50 cents, goddammnit! No! I refuse to believe any of these prices could change! It's always been two quarters -- it's always been the two biggest shiny ones, its weight in my pocket for the weight of the ice cream treat in my hand. No more. None of this paper bill business. Children are meant to use the coins.

New York is incredible. A New York summer is like none other. He could definitely walk around all day. He browsed through poster stores. Used CD shops. Hat boutiques. Porno shacks. He stopped at all of them. He was determined to know this entire street, in and out. To claim this little chunk of New York as his own area of expertise. We all need some area of expertise, or at least the false belief in one, that one thing that separates us from the other 6 billion, the one thing that individualizes us. Because who doesn't want to think they are an individual, in some way? Who doesn't want that? But what if anonymity is an unavoidable consequence of human existence? What if these stores belonged to everyone? Who knows? No one may follow. No one may lead. There may not even be paths to go down.

He thought of another girl he could call. He called back the friend and asked for the other girl's number. He called her. Hey hey. Yeah, how'd you guess? Yeah, of course, why did you think I was calling? Sure. Umm, I'm not sure. Somewhere in East Village, I think. Yeah. Um, the CD store "Stairway to Heaven?" Oh, seriously? You know where this is? OK. Alright, see you soon. And he walked into the store and browsed around. He found a lot of great classic rock records. Jimi Hendrix. The Grateful Dead. Bob Dylan. The Beatles. And of course Led Zeppelin.

She suddenly walked in, bringing fresh minty air blowing into the store. He quickly recognized this almost imperceptible change in the weather, and turned around. There she was. He noticed how beautiful she was for the millionth time. She grabbed his hand and said, "Come on, let's go play outside!" She was so simple with her words and emotions. He couldn't really handle her. He wondered if he should have just not called. But it was too late. The time for making choices was over. He was just along for the ride now. She took him to her car and they started driving around. Oh, I don't know. Where do you want to go? It's your car. It's your city. No, no, you decide. That's true. I did call you. OK. Well. Let's go... let's go to Central Park and walk around or something. Yeah. The sun is out. It's great. The shade will be nice.

So the morning came and went. He was beginning to feel a little hungry. He had been awake for a few hours now, and he was getting hungry. They found a coffee shop called The Attic, and went in. He ordered a small sandwich and coffee, and she ordered a coffee as well. She pulled out a cigarette. Eh, the usual. Not too much. Just hanging out. You? Oh wow. That must be exciting. Tell me about it. No kidding. Are you joking? That's hilarious. Interesting. Yeah, I know. You said it. The same thing happened to me. I know what you mean. Definitely.

They left the Attic, and he felt like he was leaving the attic of his life. Girlfriend? Huh? No. Nope. Just a girl who would get really mad if she heard me say that! Haha. Yeah, it's a joke. It's this comedian, Mitch Hedberg, have you heard of him? Oh, really? You saw him live? No way! I'll bet. Damn, that's awesome. He's so funny on the videos, I can't even imagine... Oh, I'll bet. Yeah. Hah. Wow. Live.

His feet were a little tired. He wanted to go home with her. He was tired of walking. You know what's a good song? Yeah, good point. I guess so. That's a very broad perspective. I see. I didn't know American Beauty was your favorite movie. Indeed, they are beautiful. He felt suddenly attracted to her like being attracted to the constant roar of a distant waterfall during a long hike. But he made no sign, excepting perhaps a few nanometers walking distance closer to her. He couldn't help it. Her zest always overpowered his malaise. He wanted to grab her arm and stop her, and turn her around and pull her close and kiss her in his warm embrace, but he didn't want it to sound like a sappy, gross Wal-Mart checkout-rack romance novel. He needed it to be original. He couldn't come up with anything sufficiently genuine enough though, so he just followed her from bench to bench, grass patch to grass patch, tree to tree.

Maybe I should just settle down. But he couldn't. People from Warren, New Jersey are settled down before they're born. He had to be the exception, he couldn't just fall in line like the rest. He was never settling down. And so he found himself. And so he took the train back home.

And oh, what a long, strange trip it has been.