At the edge of twilight, desire paths between neighborhoods foreshorten and fade into pockets of the dark. A patch of trees, meandering litter, and the ugly back sides of housing you don’t recognize hems you in. Street lights and porch bulbs mark the occasional note of safety, but it’s not enough. And then, behind a long row of municipally-approved rolling plastic cans, another glow shifts. This time paler, but distinctly silent against all the halogen and LED.
Upright
The black-clad person-shape sits slumped at the base of the tall picket fence, hollow black eyes not showing a glint of indication where they might be looking, except that their finger occasionally pokes at one of the many points of light circling their head, almost like a cartoon character after a run-in with a large mallet. “Oh, hi!” this person says, happily, but quietly, like the fading light all around you. “I like to be alone around this time, but maybe there’s something I can help you with?” You stay silent, eyes beginning to widen. The lights still circle this person’s head. “Yeah, I’m the one that talks. Depends on if you’re listening, though.” They take a pause, and one of the lights drift into their ear, then out their left eye. There wasn’t much to see illuminated on the inside.
Reversed
You offer a hand toward them, on the hard packed dirt. The only indication they look up is a subtle upward tilt of their head. “No, sorry. That’s not how it works.” They give a long sigh. “Not sure you’re ready to listen, yet.” The look on your face must have carried some note of confusion. You drop your hand instead. “I’ll be gone in the morning. But then I’ll be back. Or maybe I’ll be there some morning, and then gone when you look.” You cross your arms, then uncross. They don’t seem particularly standoffish, just – you can’t even think of the word.
“Listen first. Then you’ll find me again,” they say from the ground, continuing to poke at the lights swirling slowly around their head. You start to back away, pondering how to leave without being too rude. “It’s not like I’ll ever be anywhere else…” is your last trace of them, before the shadows are long enough to cast over their hiding place. Didn’t you have somewhere else to be?
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