THE NIGHT (c) Nick Anvil

Sunday, January 20, 2008


The stale, stagnant air give way, parting like Moses with the red sea as your perfume entered the room. It didn’t seem to fit somehow with the smell of stale cigarettes and burned coffee that claimed the room. Like little children playing tag, your shadow chases the outlines cast from the lamp in the corner of the room. I reach for my cup of coffee, the heady aroma filling my senses; begging me to play “remember when”. But I know if I give in you’ll leave. Just the merest hint of days gone by and you’ll flee like the breeze that brought you here. I watch a cigarette burning in the ashtray. Bright flickers of light, the smoke rising until the flame turns to ash. I lift the dark liquid to my lips and rise to go to the kitchen. As I enter the doorway I reach for the light switch on the wall. But I sense this too will chase you away and I drop my hand, leaving the light switch untouched.

The moon is bright tonight, streaming across the kitchen floor. The moonlight making the linoleum sparkle like jewels on the floor, a glint here, a glint there. The window beckons me closer. A few stars twinkle in the night sky but they are no match for the white orb hanging in the night. Every hole and crater of the moon’s surface seems to stand out in stark contrast. I reach for the faucet, releasing the water into the sink. The cold, hard metal stings as I fill the cup with water. The water moves across my hand, soft and smooth like a silken glove. I pour the water from the cup and laying it on the counter for safe keeping, turn and walk to the patio door. The door crunches the tiny rocks and dirt in the tracks as I slide it open. A gentle coolness beckons me outside.

Soft leaves greet my feet playfully as I step onto the patio. The cool breeze brushes at my face like the caressing fingers of a gentle lover. The wind lifts my hair, pushing it across my face, like a mother’s hand brushing each strand into place. The freshness is everywhere, sprinkled like dew on the grass in the morning sun. The leaves drift into the yard, moving here, there, in no particular direction. Their little dance is interrupted by the slap, slap, slap of tires on pavement. Gravel and twigs giving way as the wheels move over them. The hum of the engine fills the air like a cat purring in a empty room. The purring is shattered with the harsh ding, ding, ding of a bell. An ever present reminder to ”remember to take the keys and close the door”. The sounds intertwine; crumpling plastic, doors slamming, footsteps as someone hurries home from whatever or wherever. There’s a football game down at the park tonight. I can hear the muffled announcer’s voice calling the plays. Telling everyone over and over again what they just saw on the field. Cheers waft across the night, as I sit on the step.


You’re here beside me, your heady aroma mingling with the cool night air. How many times have I wished you were here? But there it is again, that little “let’s remember when” song and dance, never quite far away, always closer than you think. I watch the few clouds in the night sky sitting ever so quietly, barely moving. I hear laughter and it sounds like crystal being tapped with a fine silver spoon. The moon is laughing too, a mirthful smile hinting at hiding the biggest secret in the world. “Just what do you see from there my friend, I ask. “Do you see the sun as it dances away every day, the dimming light your own personal alarm clock? Or, are we your night light, a little glimmer of light to keep you from stubbing your toe as you move in the darkened universe? Do we shine at you with a smile on our face, suggesting hidden tales and mysteries? Do you see our craters and valleys like an acne faced youngster or that of a sly, wizened old man? Do you see it all, or nothing at all? “Hey old man”, I ask, “sitting atop your perch, do you see there is nothing there?” The tinkling laughter again fills the night air.
I rise from the step but I’m stopped by wetness on my skin. I hear the plop, plop, plop of water hitting the leaves on the ground, becoming louder, slapping at the grass and the patio floor. It hits the leaves, flattening them against the ground in a kind of passionate interplay. Together they dance until the leaves can hold no more. I open the door to go inside but I don’t need to look back to where you were. I know you’ve already gone. Your perfume is faint, but it lingers even as the rain tries to wash it from the air. I walk to the kitchen, taking the cup from the counter and fill it with the last remaining drops of coffee in the pot. The aroma stings my nostrils as the moon’s brightness gives way to the dawn. The linoleum has lost its sparkle. I walk into the living room where the shadows from the lamp have faded, becoming one with dark autumn colored carpet. I lift my cup to you, to no one, to everyone, to nothing, to everything. Taking a sip I turn off the lamp and await your return.