Coffee And Cigarettes

The time of day has come where the world settles down and rests. The freeways, normally filled with the bustling busyness of life are gaping dark holes with only the stray headlight to confirm that they are open to drive on. The sound of crickets is the loudest noise in the dark. Well, that and the crunching of my footsteps on the gravel road outside.

As I walk, I listen to the crickets, their constant chirping never silencing, even for a moment. This is both my favorite and worst time of the day, the darkness envelops me as I walk in silence without a single light to guide my steps. I can just catch the sounds of a passing car a few roads down, the only break from the crickets.

When I am asked why I wander alone this late at night, I choose to answer that I suffer from insomnia. It is a simple answer, questions are limited to the few that people choose to ask. The reality of my wanderings is not inability to sleep, but the terror of the worlds I will live in my dreams.

I take a sip of my coffee as I feel the wave of exhaustion hit me. I fight it with another sip. The cool air on my skin helps keep me here, not to wander in the darkness of my dreams. The gravel continues to crunch under my feet as they take me to an unknown destination.

A single lit lamppost comes into view, its glow illuminating a small metal bench, marked with a million initials which resonate with something deep within me. I focus on the bench, the erratic tread of my footsteps evening out as they find their destination in the light.

As I settle onto the bench, my body thanks me as it rests sore muscles and irritated bones. The fogginess of my mind is strong so I light a cigarette to clear it, letting out smoke into the cool air. My greatest enemy at this time of night is sleep, I cannot allow myself to falter even for a second in that direction.

Even while engaged with this enemy, I fight off others, fragments of memories that threaten to surface. Horror fills me up, overflowing into the night as I fail to fight back each memory as they sweep over me like torrents of rushing water. I concentrate on the initials on the bench, reading each line and heart and letter.

A + T, a heart surrounds it. To fight the memories, I imagine the lovebirds who sat on this very bench and scratched their initials into the metal. I wonder at their love, what it was like, and also at their hurt as I see two large scratches through the middle in an attempt to obliterate their message.

My memories mingle with my thoughts, the fog of my own pain and hurt impacting my view of theirs. Did they also come out here into the night, running from their own demons? Another sip of my coffee, another puff of my cigarette, and my mind clears.

I gaze into the sky, the soft glow of the lamppost partially obscuring my view of the stars. My demons sit beside me, whispering in my ear, reminding me of memories full of pain and horror and arguing for sleep so that I am at their mercy. Another sip, another puff, the fogginess falls away again. I glance down and realize my cigarette is out and my cup is empty. How will I continue to fight off the demons tonight?

I glance once more at the bench full of people I have never met, dreams I have never seen, nightmares I have never experienced. We all will fight off our demons tonight, tomorrow is another night, but tonight we will fight.