Night Walks and Menthol Cigarettes  − February, 2007

Running away, but with no where to run to, I found myself standing beside the Barren river as it slept. Stars hurried across its glassy surfaces like millions of tiny, sparkling pinpricks. A bridge passed over the dark water and stood a crumbling relic before me. Rusted supports passed over head, tirelessly keeping the structure from being swallowed by the rushing water below.

As I stepped onto the bridge, I looked up just in time to see a shape disappearing into the fog up ahead. Another restless spirit, I thought. Maybe he's tired of his life, too.

When the shape was completely gone from sight I continued across the Barren, snapping pictures of whatever I found of interest. Soon, the poured concrete of the bridge gave way to packed dirt and I came to a gate topped with a flood light. Sick orange light spilled from it and set flame to the fog that hung heavily in the air. Aside from a few cars in the distance, the night was quiet, and I could just hear the electric buzzing of the light above me.

I passed through the metal gate and gladly put the orange light behind me. I could almost feel it on my skin, and it crawled and erupted in goosebumps to show its own disapproval. I continued on, now trudging through a darkness so complete I was afraid I was going to end up in a patch of trees before I knew it. Had I not seen the ember of his burning cigarette, I would have probably walked right over the man.

Shapes and lines had begun to emerge, and I could barely make out the person leaning against the fence that ran along side the road. It was the shape that I'd seen before. He was an old black man, and his posture made him look like he was struggling with the weight of his coat. One hand he kept clenched around a brown paper bag, the other held a cigarette to his cracked lips.

"What do you say?" he said in a stream of smoke as I came closer.

I pulled my headphones from my hears and said, "I'm fine. What about yourself?"

I was startled by the sound of my own voice. I'd been walking in silence for hours now, and I was unnerved by the flat quality that it had aquired. Did I always sound like that?

"Oh, I'm doin alright. Jus on my way home." He put the bag under his arm and and offered his newly freed hand to me. "My name's Jay Jay."

"I'm Josh," I said, giving his hand a shake. The skin was soft and worn, and I was dimly reminded of an old baseball glove. He withdrew his hand and used it to pull out a pack of cigarettes. As he stuck one into his mouth, I realized how long it'd been since I'd had one myself.

"Could I possibly bum one of those?"

"Sure."

He offered me the pack and I took one hungrily.

We walked the length of the dirt road, sharing stories and smoking. I learned that Jay Jay lay pipe for a company here in Bowling Green, and currently he was returning from a card game with a few of his friends at a local bar. I told him I was a student at Western, and that I was out to clear my head and get away for a while.

"At least your goin to school," he said. "But don't let it get to you. Life's not just about sittin in a classroom all day. Sometimes you gotta get out and get a taste a'things. Kinna like you're doing now, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

We reached his house and I thanked him for the cigarette. He told me that it was no problem, and he reminded me again not to let life suffocate me. I told him I wouldn't and I went on my way.