The Night Owler: the fine art of major observation

November 20, 2016

"They couldn't dance,

they couldn't even assemble without,

being f*cked up."

The girl with the haircut like uncle John was really -into it.

She made out with at least three other people and stumbled outside where us freshmen were smoking cigs.

We had arrived, shaking the dust off our childhood insecurities and doubts, clinging to hope, waiting at the wings about to perform the biggest show of our careering lives thus far - college life. A place where reality and innocence are lost in a shuffle of mind grueling perfromances. A true test of will power and morality. We were the best of the best, and just as depressed- a class of about thirty-five students carefully chosen because we were "gifted". I don’t know how the f*ck they let me in, but was flattered none the less and happy to be away from where I came from.

We stood there freezing, it was going on two in the morning and stood to be one of the coldest winter’s Pittsburgh would ever experience to date. As we inhaled puffs of death we discussed shop talk, only pausing long enough to complain about how damn bored we were. For once I didn’t feel like drinking. They were going on about how shit of a snow it was, literally chilling the bones, I remained silent. I enjoyed her numbness, for once I was in the comfort of a feeling so familiar, for once I did not want to complain. As I was halfway down the cancer stick, I had lost count of which number this was today… The others finished and went inside to the warmth of debauchery and techno house music. They offered to wait but I needed a moment.

I squatted on the semi functioning patio. There chunks of cement missing yet structurally as solid as they come. I lit another baby and inhaled with such great relief and poise you’d think I had been born with it, cigarette clenched to the inside jaw shut, wailing for no one.

As I surveyed the back alley and adjacent street corner lit by a several street lights, I was completely alone. My mind having run on auto pilot all day long had reached empty.

I blankly stared at the brick homes with chain linked fences. I wondered who was sleeping, who was crying, who was told,“ Good night I love you.” The sleepy suburbs we had ubered to was quant and meaningless.

I pulled my iphone out, swiped and in an instant, my heart dropped to the icy ground below. I pictured my phone dropping, crashing into the concrete below and shattering sharp and swift so as to avoid the message. I read it with much anxiety, “delivered 32 minutes ago"…

For what seemed like an eternity my body shut down, frozen in time with the icicles dangling from the trees across the way. I snapped out of my trance due to the abrupt back door opening. The music and loudness startled me back into my numbing reality. I immediately shoved it back into my coat pocket and reached for another fresh cig. I could hear the shouts, slurry and stumbling towards the crowded staircase of one. The unfamiliar voices alerted me to stand up and put on my best poker face. Half of them emptied into the snow filled street below while the others huddled to smoke.

That girl with the buzz cut, almost fell off the edge of the staircase. She was where we all wanted to be. Somewhere between consciousness and utter blacked-outness. A tantilzing tango of uppers and downers where you chase that hit, the "sweet spot", all inhibitions are gone and the recklessness, seeps into your pours. She was smiling, I was impressed she was still walking around. As good friends do, they held her upright. In utter confusion, she decided it was too cold so she rejoined the dancing zombies. I held the door open, quietly observing as they shuffled her in.

I met a boy named Tod and a girl named Krystal. They were one of the only seniors who were willingly to indugle a lower classmen with their conversation. Tod discussed nothing of importance and went to finish making Krystal's snow castle she was just starting. She had already made a snow man. It looked more like a one-legged blind barn owl than a Frosty to me, but everyone’s a f*cking critic. I chucked to myself, that was a good one. A degenerate generation of elite artisans trying to create something of substance when all we are craving is childlike validation. That is good, that is bad, that is right, that isn't not right... No one wins, only the colleges instilling the healthy sense of fear and importance to keep them open.

Krystal was sweet, she hugged me for a 2 solid minutes straight. As we embraced she informed me she was giving me, "4 year’s worth of endorphins and energy." She firmly whispered," they will try to break you - the art program." Her heart racing, I could feel it through my coat.

Little did she know I was already there ...

" You HAVE to join Pop Cabaret when that class is offered - unless that's not you’re thing ..." she stammered with great enthusiasm and exactness. Before I could even answer she shouts, "Are you in design? - you look like a senior... I’ve never seen you around ? " Whenever I inform someone of my freshmen status their response is always the same, "Whoa really!? What the f*ck? No way" or something to that affect.

She ran half a block down the street then came back and proceeded to finish with her castle construction. She was wearing only a flower crop top and leggings. Her and Tod then did several jumping jacks for a bit while the rest of the upper class-men elite finished smoking this other girl’s bowl. They borrowed my lighter, I stood and gazed at the snow man owl sculpture in great amazement.

They were all so crossed they almost forgot to give it back to me. It was apparent none of them would remember the past conversations or think to ever speak to me again in the day light. I liked it that way. A solid 5 more minutes passed and like a machine reached for another. I was lighting up another cig, the only solace I had of my own on this God forsaken night. I thought to myself how it was such a bad habit. But I liked the idea of killing myself from the inside out...

I rationalized that I would gladly quit on Monday, but tonight I needed them.

Krystal pissed behind a set of trash cans and Tod followed her lead but doing so in the privacy behind a fence. They ran around some more, as I silently observed like a chain-smoking mother hen, attuned to their clucking and chattering with little to regard for my own well-being but vigilant about theirs.

They eventually all went inside and I was left alone again, with the piss smells of regret and an empty pack of Marlboro Golds. I was at this point too numb to feel warmth and too sober to not think about her... about whether to respond. I was still self-loathing from both the Taco Bell but mainly her text .

" I love and care, but I'm not in love with you."