Nights

I like the nights. I don’t think I am alone in this.

Yes, I suppose the quiet does play a part. I can’t say I am one who likes the hustle and bustle of the daytime. But then again, the night has its own rhythm, too. There are still vehicles moving here and there. Some seem to be on delivery runs, and others for more pleasurable purposes. In this car park, I have yet to see the mythical rocking car with the misted windows. I suppose I never will. It’s fair to say I’m not exactly trying to find it either.

Anyway, what I was trying to say is that maybe it’s not so much that night is quieter, but rather, I prefer the rhythm of the night to that of the day.

I don’t know when it started. I guess you could say, previously, the night was my escape from the shitty days at the office. The sunset was my siren, calling me to imbibe all manner of intoxicating potions and kill (or at least incapacitate) those nasty demons that reside within my psyche. That was as an adult. And only when I started drinking.

Before that… I can’t be certain. There’s a faint memory… but… you know what, never mind.

So, as I was saying, I like the nights. It isn’t a problem most times, I keep to myself, enjoy what I enjoy, and I try not to bug anybody. It’s been a lot better since I got sober, I’ll tell you that for sure. It isn’t a problem… most times.

The other times, though…those… I honestly find them difficult to speak of. I mean, for one thing, my memory isn’t what it used to be. Blame it on the alcohol, or the mental and intellectual stress from my old job, childhood trauma, whatever you want. The bottomline is, I can’t remember things like I used to. So those nights often fade from memory the moment I fall asleep after my escape.

There are flashes, though. They come to me sometimes. Sudden reminders of whatever transpired on one of those nights.

An odd prickle down the hairs on my arms and legs. Then my vision will see snatches of movement out of the corner of my vision. It’s kinda like seeing a cockroach sneak up to you when you’re off sitting somewhere. The feeling of wind blowing right into my ear before making a swift exit. Almost like a lover’s whisper. A careless one.

I want to remember though. I feel like there’s a message somewhere in there, something important that I’m supposed to remember, and that’s why it’s so hard to do. Like during the day, all the forces of the sun are gathered and have conspired to ensure that I never recall the noble duty that I am supposed to perform.

Forget it. I’m beginning to sound like a loony. I don’t need you to tell me that. No, no, I’m not upset with you for laughing. Everybody laughs, man.

That’s usually the last thing they do before it happens.

I’m counting on you, man. I’m really hoping that next morning, I’ll remember this.