city lights

City Lights
I sit here in my studio apartment over looking eighty fourth and sixty second street. The sound of raindrops lulls my mind as they plink against the window. The pillows on the window seat under me contort to the shape of my body softly. My black dress crumples around my legs, hiked up around my thighs. My bare feet lay naked on the sill, pale in the darkness of the night. Hair spills around my face, what used to be neat curls are now lazy waves. The street lights glow giving direction to those who walk below. The lights change, cars go and people move. I can’t see faces; just umbrella’s and shapes as the figures on the sidewalk move quickly to get out of the rain. Cars splash, leaving little trails behind. Everything seems to have a reason, a purpose. I used to have a reason. I used to have a purpose.
My college life was everything one could hope for. I lived for each day and the people in it. Some came, some went but two stayed, always. Samantha and Scott were my two best friends. Every decision I made they were there, in my mind. I did everything for them, and they for me. Love grew for both of them, in different ways. Samantha was like the sister I never had, Scott was the one boy I learned to let in. They both meant as much to me as family. My father was young and healthy, my mother a feminine spirited woman. Through the four years of college life the three of us went up and down. They were there for me when I was sick, depressed, on the verge of alcoholism, scared and alone. I was there for them as boyfriends and girlfriends came and went. As financial troubles pressed Scott. We shared in the joy of road trips, concerts, party nights, moving, living. The three of us did crazy things, shared many conversations and more laughter. Always we were there for each other. Classes came and went. Each of us moved a few times around the city. We stood side by side as trials hit us like waves on a sea wall. We were strong, together we made it through everything. Senior year my father died from a heart attack. Scott and Sam stood strong on either side of me, keeping me afloat when I was too weak to stand on my own. Scott fell into financial ruin and Sam and I helped him work through it. The economy failed making it hard for any of us to find jobs and pay bills. We moved in together, eating ramen and macaroni and cheese by candle light to save money. My life, my purpose was propelled by these two. Scott got sick and was in the hospital, I was in New York. I bought a ticket off someone who was boarding the next plane to Atlanta and got there as fast as I could. We celebrated when he got his first big job/internship with a prominent advertising company. I cried with joy when Samantha got married to that special young man. College was great, a little microcosm of protection we lived in.
Samantha moved away when her husband was transferred by his company to another city. We still spoke often; she had a child, then another. Her life had altered. Her world was her husband and children, as it should be. Scott and I moved into the city, he working with an advertising company, making big money. I lived comfortably in my flat as an upcoming lawyer. We got together often for lunch or to hang out, but our jobs consumed both of us. I went out and partied occasionally but it held nothing for me, it was empty. A few months after moving to the city I was told my mother had Alzheimer’s. Over the next year I went to see her until she wouldn’t even remember who I was. Scott held me many nights after I made these trips. Sam visited, showing me her family, the life she had made. She had a successful career as an interior decorator. Then Scott’s company went bankrupt. The CEO had embezzled millions, he was going to lose everything. His girlfriend walked out on him when she heard. I was at work when I received the news; Scott had hung himself. His life was his job, the things he had worked for. The funeral was two days later. The ceremony was beautiful, Samantha was there. I set a red rose on top of the rich wood coffin. We went back to my place and had coffee while we remembered all the times we had. Samantha eventually went to bed, I stayed up thinking. What had I built? What was my life? I looked around and saw the couch I bought, the hardwood floors, the city life below. I saw the bowls and plates that gave color to my kitchen and finally the pictures that littered my desk. The faces of my father, my mother, Samantha and Scott stared back at me. Sam stayed for a week but had to return to her family, her life.
I reflected on all these things as I sit here and watch the hectic pace of the people walking in the city. It is so full of life, so many people out there working to make their dreams, to find their purpose. Each one is fighting to make their own way. People are full of hope, of expectations. Everyone is also full of fear. Fear that that hope will fail, collapse. It is not failing that scares us, it is fear of losing hope, losing dreams. So what if I had a successful career? I had an amazing loft in the city, enough money to live comfortably, no worries really. But I had no worries because I had nothing. God says he will never give us a trial we cannot make it through. And so in this moment I have also lost my faith, the last shred of hope I could hold onto. Tears on my face quickly match the drops running down the glass panes inches in front of me. So true to form I pick up my gun, say a prayer and go out with a bang.