Monday, December 20, 2010

Ice

I wake up in the driver’s seat of my still running vehicle.

Japanese Hip-Hop tumbles out of the speakers.

I suddenly panic and wonder how long I had been asleep.

The display on my ever-failing stereo has gone out, and I press my fingers against it, seating it temporarily back onto its contacts, revealing the time, track number, and bass monitor.

7:11 am.

Fifteen minutes.

I still have almost two hours before my exam.

I relax into the upholstered seat as much as possible.

How did I fall asleep for fifteen minutes?

I took the stupid pill an hour ago.

How did I fall asleep?

I don’t have time to worry about this right now.

The car is still running.

I turn it off.

The silence of the crisp, cold morning settles in around me.

There is no one else in this parking garage.

But then again, why would there be?

I’m sure that very few others were still awake to see the sunrise with me today.

I get out of the car.

The air is freezing on the third floor of the open, concrete structure.

I collect my things and start towards my destination and walk across the bridge out of the garage, proving my initial hypothesis incorrect.

The air is just freezing.

Period.

My gloveless hands immediately begin to ache in the wind chill.

The wool coat around my chest and waist keeps most of my body warm, but the few exposed areas create a stark contrast between comfort and brazen hostility.

I reach the library.

Halfway there.

Patches of water in the school’s reflecting pool are frozen solid, broken up only by the slightly warmer water being pushed through the pool’s fountain and out onto the icy surface.

I listen to the water splash and slap against the partially solidified surface.

I listen to the sound of the water being forced through the pump.

I listen to the eerie silence surrounding the noise.

I survey the campus around me, taking note of the fact that, other than my chest and eyes, this fountain is the only source of motion.

The surreal placidity of the environment around me only serves to emphasize the song of the fountain as its auditory propagations ricochet off of the surfaces around me, each material giving their respective echoes a unique and profoundly delicate texture.

I stare at the jets of water, pausing for a moment to soak in the sublime beauty of this private orchestra of machine and nature.

My face is numb.

The cold doesn’t hurt anymore, although every movement of my frigid knuckles is exquisitely painful.

I miss the bracing sting against my face, but the lack of feeling makes the second half of the trip easier.

I take a smooth breath, inhaling the clean air deeply into my lungs.

My chest shudders at the peak of this inverse sigh, and I hold the chilled fluid in my lungs for a moment as my legs carry me ever forward.

The amphetamines have released into my system.

I have never felt more awake.

I have never felt more alive.

2 comments:

  1. (Firstly, Google+ is stupid.)

    I feel obligated to express my liking for certain posts. There are plenty that I scroll over, and yet those that I take the time read usually leave me speechless. Not speechless in a sense that I'm so shocked that I can't conjure words, but just in a way of which I understand the post so entirely, I can't think of a certain way to reply to it.

    There isn't the convenience of a "like" button, and so I suppose typing a drawn-out comment about how there isn't a simple way to say "I like this." rather than typing just that is how I have to express my liking for something. So this is me doing just that.

    Um... So, yeah.
    That's it.

    ReplyDelete