The Dim Corners Of The Evening

When I was a child, I’d lay awake in my bed for quite some time. The issue of whether or not I was ever tired never seemed to factor into my designated "bedtime," and more often than not, sleep was the last thing I wanted when the time came. So I’d lay there, in the dark, listening to the murmur of the TV in the living room…gazing at the crack of light under my door, or out the window at the stars above. I’d retreat into fantasy…and imagine that my bed was like a pod in the matrix, and that I had been abducted and placed there by some type of alien creature. I’d imagine that my blanket was like a sack, and that gravity actually pulled south, rather than downward, to the effect that I was able to imagine that I was standing up, in this sack, attached to an endless wall with endless other sacks spanning down and out and up in all directions. I’d cuddle my teddy bear, and pretend he was my pal. Obviously, he was scared, so I’d have to reassure him…but as I got older, my company in the alien sacks began to take on more interesting forms. My teddy was always with me, of course, but I’d just make sure he was safe behind me, before moving on to hold and console whichever girl I happened to have a crush on at the time. As I moved from third grade into fourth, Lindsay Pagel was replaced by Kiley Gray, and my soothing imaginary conversations with them began to get more and more sophisticated. Regardless, somehow, even as I aged from grade school into middle school, I was never able to put myself to sleep unless I was able to imagine myself providing shelter and security to someone, in those dark quiet corners of the evening…even if they were only in my imagination.

As I grew into adolescence, moving from grade school into middle school, my "bedtime" laxed some…and I was able to stay up until I was at least relatively tired. In those newly acquired hours, between eight and ten pm, I took to walking. I’d walk down to the marina, or up into the residentails on the bluff– trying to see what I could see through people’s windows as I passed. I wasn’t a peeping tom or anything (though I did go through great lengths at that age just to see a pair of breasts), but I was greatly fascinated by all the little lights, in all the little windows, and how each represented a person. Sitting in there. In their little box, with their little lamps, alone…or with others. The world at night it seems, turned out to be identical to the world of my imaginative creations– an endless wall of alien sacks, each occupied by one or two people– only in the real world, the adult world, the companionship aspect wasn’t necessarily make-believe…as it had always been with me. Oh how I yearned…and oh how romantic a child can be without the gritty realities of experience. The sun unites everyone during the day with purpose; we all stand at attention by our phones– but at night, we all get to be alone, at last– alone together.

Towards the end of middle school, in the mid 90s, I discovered my first internet "chat room." It came on a CD a friend of mine loaned me, and I opened it without even knowing what it was. Suddenly, I found myself peering through another window– this one fresh, and electronic– and I’ll never forget my initial impression. It launched me into a sort of "jazz club." There was a noir photo of a dark city street, with a neon light hanging above a door, and a few people standing around. I clicked the door, and was surprised to find that doing so took me inside. There was dim lighting, a small stage, and tables set up here and there with digital drinks on them…and more people, generally paired off, chatting quietly. I had no idea who any of these people were, but the idea that these were people at all, and not just one’s and zeros repeating themselves back to me on the screen, totally blew me away. Remember, this is well before even internet messaging (which was well before things like facebook). About the only interactive person-to-person thing that came before this chatroom I found, in my limited internet experience, was email– that I rarely used. And email was useless for meeting strangers. This however…was absolutely amazing to me. More little corners of the evening…albeit digital ones. Dim, small places, where people could hide together– waiting out the darkness– each one, a set of places within places– each room containing a handful of people, each alone in their own rooms, in their own places. It had a stacking element to it that I found…oddly appropriate.

Went out for a drink the other night. Walked from bar to bar. In the front doors, and out the back doors. It was the same as the internet chatrooms from middle school; tiny boxes in the evening containing handfuls of strangers, waiting out the dark.