Through the Light of the Bottle
Time Bomb
“Come on, pick up motherfucker,” I stride to the door of our loft, throwing it open and pacing up and down the hall to get some privacy.
“Hello, National Alcoholic Studies Institution, this is Doug, how may I help you?”
“Ya, I need Brian,” I lean out the hallway window, looking down into the chaotic sidewalks below.
“I’m sorry ma’am; he’s in a meeting currently,”
“And I’m sorry kid, but you're going to have to interrupt it for me,” I roll my eyes at his uselessness.
“Ma’am, I just can’t-“
“Oh fucking forget it, I’ll come in myself,” I snap the cell phone shut and stuff it back in my pocket. I sigh, tensing up my shoulder and leaning my forearms on the open window ledge. I close my eyes, hearing the sound of this city buzzing by from the overheated confinements of my apartment hallway.
I hear the basketballs bounce in a complicated rhythm, the tennis shoes waltz time, accompanying the beat with the sound of squeaks against the sticky hot pavement. I hear the children screaming, joyful and jubilant as they run up and down the sidewalk below me.
I cradle my head in my hands as I hear the sound of my neighbor below me throwing his trash into the dumpster, destruction of bottles crashing its way into my ears.
I hear the sound of a car screeching and the screams of a mother below. I flinch slightly, until I hear the sickening crunch that belongs to the scene below my window. My head shoots up, and connects with the window that loomed over me.
“Fuck,” I rub the back of my head, tears welling up in my eyes and a bump forming on the back of my head.
“What was that-“ Holly emerges from the apartment before seeing my collision, “Holy shit Kate, are you okay?” she rushes forward, resting her palm against the back of my head, feeling the forming bump.
“I’m fine, I’m…” my voice is shaky as I walk away from her grasp and look out the window, biting my lip in anticipation as the scene below meets my eyes.
A dull, eroded blue car sits motionless in the middle of the street, a small crowd of people are gathered around, and small bicycle lies underneath.
The tears stream down my face, speeding against the will of time.
“Kate, it’s okay, I know that bike,” Holly’s voice calmly fills my ears, “the little girl is standing on the sidewalk. See! She’s with her mom and she’s crying,”
I let a sob escape and my eyes snap close. I feel Holly’s arms wrap protectively around my shoulder, as her mouth nears my left ear, “No one’s hurt Kate, don’t worry. It didn’t happen like last time,” I let another sob escape, altering her train of thought as she leads me back through the doorway and onto the couch.
“No, I need to go talk to Brian and-“ I move to stand-up, but Holly is standing in front of me, as she pushes my shoulders back down onto the couch, handing me a box of tissues.
“No!” her voice loses her normal calm, comforting nature, as she hands me a box of tissues, “You need to collect yourself and then you need to visit her.”
The urge to fight enters my mind briefly, but the pounding of my head from the tears overrides the thought, as I wipe my the back of my hand against my damp cheeks.
“Right,” I grab one tissue from the offered box, blowing my nose half-heartedly before standing up and grabbing my bag.
“Kate, I said-” Holly grabs the strap of my back, halting my movements.
“I know, I’m going to go visit her,” I avert my eyes, not willing to stare into her concerned green ones.
“Do you want me to come?” she asks timidly, letting go of the strap.
“Do I ever?” a small smile plays on my lips as I readjust my bag on my shoulder.
She sighs, forcing a smile before sitting awkwardly on the couch, perched on the end as she watches my retreating figure make a turn towards the stairs and disappear.
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I lean my head against the compartment’s window, the cold pane of glass contrasting with my warm, wet cheeks. The subway stations mix into one system of organized chaos. I lose track of how many stations I pass until I look up through the dim lights and see the 149th Street sign against the station walls. I bolt out of my seat and squeeze my way through the closing doors, barely pull my coat through to safety.
I walk over to the #4 train platform and lean against the wall. Various people mill about, coming from the fancy manors in the Upper East Side in Manhattan, all wear a look of defeat. By day the fantasies of city life and now they return to their home, back to their reality, life in the Bronx.
I let my hair fall in front of my face, willing my damaged strands to hide my guilt of my present life to the predicaments of my past.
I move aboard the train as it appears through the tunnel, unconsciously stepping on to the third to last compartment, my memory fighting its way back into my body.
“Hello, National Alcoholic Studies Institution, this is Doug, how may I help you?”
“Ya, I need Brian,” I lean out the hallway window, looking down into the chaotic sidewalks below.
“I’m sorry ma’am; he’s in a meeting currently,”
“And I’m sorry kid, but you're going to have to interrupt it for me,” I roll my eyes at his uselessness.
“Ma’am, I just can’t-“
“Oh fucking forget it, I’ll come in myself,” I snap the cell phone shut and stuff it back in my pocket. I sigh, tensing up my shoulder and leaning my forearms on the open window ledge. I close my eyes, hearing the sound of this city buzzing by from the overheated confinements of my apartment hallway.
I hear the basketballs bounce in a complicated rhythm, the tennis shoes waltz time, accompanying the beat with the sound of squeaks against the sticky hot pavement. I hear the children screaming, joyful and jubilant as they run up and down the sidewalk below me.
I cradle my head in my hands as I hear the sound of my neighbor below me throwing his trash into the dumpster, destruction of bottles crashing its way into my ears.
I hear the sound of a car screeching and the screams of a mother below. I flinch slightly, until I hear the sickening crunch that belongs to the scene below my window. My head shoots up, and connects with the window that loomed over me.
“Fuck,” I rub the back of my head, tears welling up in my eyes and a bump forming on the back of my head.
“What was that-“ Holly emerges from the apartment before seeing my collision, “Holy shit Kate, are you okay?” she rushes forward, resting her palm against the back of my head, feeling the forming bump.
“I’m fine, I’m…” my voice is shaky as I walk away from her grasp and look out the window, biting my lip in anticipation as the scene below meets my eyes.
A dull, eroded blue car sits motionless in the middle of the street, a small crowd of people are gathered around, and small bicycle lies underneath.
The tears stream down my face, speeding against the will of time.
“Kate, it’s okay, I know that bike,” Holly’s voice calmly fills my ears, “the little girl is standing on the sidewalk. See! She’s with her mom and she’s crying,”
I let a sob escape and my eyes snap close. I feel Holly’s arms wrap protectively around my shoulder, as her mouth nears my left ear, “No one’s hurt Kate, don’t worry. It didn’t happen like last time,” I let another sob escape, altering her train of thought as she leads me back through the doorway and onto the couch.
“No, I need to go talk to Brian and-“ I move to stand-up, but Holly is standing in front of me, as she pushes my shoulders back down onto the couch, handing me a box of tissues.
“No!” her voice loses her normal calm, comforting nature, as she hands me a box of tissues, “You need to collect yourself and then you need to visit her.”
The urge to fight enters my mind briefly, but the pounding of my head from the tears overrides the thought, as I wipe my the back of my hand against my damp cheeks.
“Right,” I grab one tissue from the offered box, blowing my nose half-heartedly before standing up and grabbing my bag.
“Kate, I said-” Holly grabs the strap of my back, halting my movements.
“I know, I’m going to go visit her,” I avert my eyes, not willing to stare into her concerned green ones.
“Do you want me to come?” she asks timidly, letting go of the strap.
“Do I ever?” a small smile plays on my lips as I readjust my bag on my shoulder.
She sighs, forcing a smile before sitting awkwardly on the couch, perched on the end as she watches my retreating figure make a turn towards the stairs and disappear.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I lean my head against the compartment’s window, the cold pane of glass contrasting with my warm, wet cheeks. The subway stations mix into one system of organized chaos. I lose track of how many stations I pass until I look up through the dim lights and see the 149th Street sign against the station walls. I bolt out of my seat and squeeze my way through the closing doors, barely pull my coat through to safety.
I walk over to the #4 train platform and lean against the wall. Various people mill about, coming from the fancy manors in the Upper East Side in Manhattan, all wear a look of defeat. By day the fantasies of city life and now they return to their home, back to their reality, life in the Bronx.
I let my hair fall in front of my face, willing my damaged strands to hide my guilt of my present life to the predicaments of my past.
I move aboard the train as it appears through the tunnel, unconsciously stepping on to the third to last compartment, my memory fighting its way back into my body.