Through the window, the moon cast a ribbon of light diagonally across her body, revealing a shoulder, two ribs, and the curvature of a hip. A path of skin like fresh snow beneath a streetlamp. The smell of lilacs – her ever-present scent – invaded his nostrils. This time mingling with sweat and the moist August air. Yet the rest of her was veiled in storm cloud gray and grew more indiscernible despite his staring. Sheldon had known Tatum for over a year but she seemed so vague to him, as if he were peering at her through a rain-splashed windshield, betrayed by broken wipers. She was opaque lying there in the tousled bed linens and that made him anxious. It occurred to him to quietly exit the room and leave her to her dreams, so he made his way out the door, down three floors, and into the silent streets.
The city pulsates like a switchboard of energy in the waking hours. Yet, after midnight, within certain neighborhoods, it is a cloister. The small streets can be like portals to a quainter era. The atmosphere so different than in the daylight. This is what he loved most about Philadelphia. It rested. And because of his inability to do the same, Sheldon walked. West, on Locust, toward the river, he meandered past narrow, cobblestone back alleys. The giant silhouette of a cargo train vanished northward toward the Art Museum. Around a corner, a cat, like a sentry, slinked back and forth on the slender top of a property gate, and startled him. Ahead, on a street perpendicular, two women in flowing skirts passed by on bikes that seemed too large for them; even at this hour, in the bright darkness, they looked purposeful yet carefree, as girls in skirts on bikes often do in the summer months.
Sheldon favored Fitler Square to the much bigger Rittenhouse. Rittenhouse Square was a spectacle. Fitler Square, at this hour, a sanctuary. The brass ram in repose greeted him. The bear in mid-stride paid him no mind. He imagined them coming to life like in a child’s daydream. He sat on a bench next to the tortoises conferring with one another. The moonlight was still strong and it gleamed off the helmeted backs of the tortoises; the largest casting a fatherly figure in front of two attentive children. Be patient, you’ll get there, don’t worry, it is who you are. Sheldon began to feel at ease and the edges of his mouth curved upward forming a wry smile. He sat and enjoyed the solitude for minutes which seemed longer. Suddenly the drone of the southbound #12 bus on its final run grew closer and it roused him. Above, some lonely stars shone in defiance of the city and its artificial light. The warm air was sweet with alyssum. It reminded him of lilacs. He thought of Tatum. Was she still sleeping? Perhaps she too had left the house.
(James Parsons is a writer living in Philadelphia. When he's not writing you can find him on his bike, running in the Wissahickon trails, or coaching on soccer fields throughout the area. He has a master's degree in journalism from Temple University.)
Showing posts with label Rittenhouse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rittenhouse. Show all posts
Reconnaissance
As Joseph jumped up the subway steps at City Hall, he marveled at how long it’d been since he last set foot near Rittenhouse Square. One could live an entire lifetime between Northern Liberties and Fishtown, he thought.
Even now he only came this way out of necessity, on a rescue mission he feared would become nothing more than reconnaissance, said fear stemming from the following text message exchange with Annabeth after she didn’t answer either of his calls:
Joseph: When you coming to JB?
Annabeth: Probably not but come to McG!
JB stood for Johnny Brenda’s. A bar stool there having cushioned Joseph’s backside for the previous three hours, he and Garret and Suki waiting to hear from Annabeth about when she’d be joining them, Joseph felt toasty during his midnight trek on the Market-Frankford line. At first Joseph thought McG meant McGillin’s, but then he remembered that Billy was a smoker, so it had to be McGlinchey’s.
Joseph strode through McGlinchey’s doorway and spotted them right away through the smoke filled haze. They sat in a booth on the left side of the bar, Annabeth beside Billy, a young guy with long hair Joseph had met a few times seated across from them. Joseph cringed, swallowed his pride, and sat next to the guy whose name he’d never remember.
“Hi,” he managed a smile as he waved at them all.
Annabeth looked in his direction, a devilish face, cigarette between her left index and middle fingers. Billy exhaled and shook Joseph’s hand. The young guy, who’d been jabbering away as Joseph joined them, said, “Yo dude,” and then kept talking. Music blared, an old Velvet Underground tune, Lou Reed’s voice floating indiscriminately among the crowd, through the smoke.
When the kid stopped to breathe, Joseph said, “I’m gonna grab a drink, anyone in need?”
Billy answered, “I think we all could use one.” The others nodded. “Shot and a beer, you choose.”
A tall, slender bar tender with tattoos in various places, the one of a diamond on her left breast in particular catching Joseph’s unwitting eye, asked, “What can I get you?”
“Four Miller Lites and four shots of Jameson.”
He paid the fifteen bucks he owed and left a five dollar tip, carried the drinks back to the booth in two trips.
“Thank you much,” Billy said.
“Yeah, thanks dude,” the young chatterbox offered.
“Since when do you smoke?” Joseph asked Annabeth.
“From time to time,” she said airily.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joe.”
Joseph caught a smirk on Billy’s face.
“Excuse me,” Annabeth said as she rose. She looked back at Joseph and winked as she entered the Ladies room.
The music changed and now Nick Lowe sang, ‘Cruel To Be Kind.’
Raising his shot glass, his Yoda tattoo purposefully visible to the others, Joseph indicated for them to raise theirs. The three men threw back their Jamesons.
“So Billy,” Joseph managed to start before the kid could talk again. “You head back to Chicago at all?”
“Naaahhh,” Billy drew out. “No way to get back. Besides, Philly’s been too much fun.”
The long haired kid stayed quiet for a refreshing few moments and Joseph heard the music say, ‘it’s a very very very good sign’ just as Annabeth returned from the restroom.
She sat and pushed her shot over to Joseph. “You want mine too?” She asked. “I don’t need this.”
The whiskey went down the hatch and Joseph felt his buzz kick up a notch, watched an anthropomorphic red glass ashtray throw a punch across Billy’s face. He knew then it was time for him to head home.
“Well I was just in the neighborhood so wanted to stop in for a drink, but I gotta go.”
Annabeth eyed him quizzically, knowing he’d actually just been four neighborhoods away.
Goodbyes were said and Joseph hoped he’d catch the train before it stopped running for the night, save the eight dollar difference between that and cab fare. He decided not to call Annabeth for a few days, give her a little space.
(Listen to the original version of Nick Lowe's 'Cruel To Be Kind' here. For a live version performed with Wilco last month, click here.)
Even now he only came this way out of necessity, on a rescue mission he feared would become nothing more than reconnaissance, said fear stemming from the following text message exchange with Annabeth after she didn’t answer either of his calls:
Joseph: When you coming to JB?
Annabeth: Probably not but come to McG!
JB stood for Johnny Brenda’s. A bar stool there having cushioned Joseph’s backside for the previous three hours, he and Garret and Suki waiting to hear from Annabeth about when she’d be joining them, Joseph felt toasty during his midnight trek on the Market-Frankford line. At first Joseph thought McG meant McGillin’s, but then he remembered that Billy was a smoker, so it had to be McGlinchey’s.
Joseph strode through McGlinchey’s doorway and spotted them right away through the smoke filled haze. They sat in a booth on the left side of the bar, Annabeth beside Billy, a young guy with long hair Joseph had met a few times seated across from them. Joseph cringed, swallowed his pride, and sat next to the guy whose name he’d never remember.
“Hi,” he managed a smile as he waved at them all.
Annabeth looked in his direction, a devilish face, cigarette between her left index and middle fingers. Billy exhaled and shook Joseph’s hand. The young guy, who’d been jabbering away as Joseph joined them, said, “Yo dude,” and then kept talking. Music blared, an old Velvet Underground tune, Lou Reed’s voice floating indiscriminately among the crowd, through the smoke.
When the kid stopped to breathe, Joseph said, “I’m gonna grab a drink, anyone in need?”
Billy answered, “I think we all could use one.” The others nodded. “Shot and a beer, you choose.”
A tall, slender bar tender with tattoos in various places, the one of a diamond on her left breast in particular catching Joseph’s unwitting eye, asked, “What can I get you?”
“Four Miller Lites and four shots of Jameson.”
He paid the fifteen bucks he owed and left a five dollar tip, carried the drinks back to the booth in two trips.
“Thank you much,” Billy said.
“Yeah, thanks dude,” the young chatterbox offered.
“Since when do you smoke?” Joseph asked Annabeth.
“From time to time,” she said airily.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joe.”
Joseph caught a smirk on Billy’s face.
“Excuse me,” Annabeth said as she rose. She looked back at Joseph and winked as she entered the Ladies room.
The music changed and now Nick Lowe sang, ‘Cruel To Be Kind.’
Raising his shot glass, his Yoda tattoo purposefully visible to the others, Joseph indicated for them to raise theirs. The three men threw back their Jamesons.
“So Billy,” Joseph managed to start before the kid could talk again. “You head back to Chicago at all?”
“Naaahhh,” Billy drew out. “No way to get back. Besides, Philly’s been too much fun.”
The long haired kid stayed quiet for a refreshing few moments and Joseph heard the music say, ‘it’s a very very very good sign’ just as Annabeth returned from the restroom.
She sat and pushed her shot over to Joseph. “You want mine too?” She asked. “I don’t need this.”
The whiskey went down the hatch and Joseph felt his buzz kick up a notch, watched an anthropomorphic red glass ashtray throw a punch across Billy’s face. He knew then it was time for him to head home.
“Well I was just in the neighborhood so wanted to stop in for a drink, but I gotta go.”
Annabeth eyed him quizzically, knowing he’d actually just been four neighborhoods away.
Goodbyes were said and Joseph hoped he’d catch the train before it stopped running for the night, save the eight dollar difference between that and cab fare. He decided not to call Annabeth for a few days, give her a little space.
(Listen to the original version of Nick Lowe's 'Cruel To Be Kind' here. For a live version performed with Wilco last month, click here.)
Regina's Rittenhouse Morning
Another Saturday morning on Rittenhouse Square for Regina, reading. She walked from 10th and Porter where her house was too empty to bear, not that it lacked furniture or fixtures. The walk was long and tiring and a park bench delivered the rest she needed.
So many places along the way reminded her of him, mostly restaurants: Francoluigi’s Pizzeria, Taqueria Veracruzana, Jamaican Jerk Hut. She wondered whether he’d think of her or another girl during the same walk, or perhaps he’d only think of himself.
Regina hears laughter and looks up from her book and observes a young couple walk past her bench, holding hands. They don’t speak to each other, the young couple, they just alternate between light laughter and the hearty kind. Regina thinks they might stop laughing, but whatever the cause of their mirth, it proves still too funny for anything but more laughter. The young couple laughs intermittently for the entire thirty seconds it takes them to pass Regina’s bench.
Now Regina’s melancholy yields to an appreciation for the beauty of the trees surrounding her, buildings on the square as their backdrop, a plot of green grass preserved for all time within her city. Most of the day lies ahead, she thinks.
On her walk home to 10th and Porter she takes the same route. Passing her favorite restaurants, this time she thinks only of her love for their food.
So many places along the way reminded her of him, mostly restaurants: Francoluigi’s Pizzeria, Taqueria Veracruzana, Jamaican Jerk Hut. She wondered whether he’d think of her or another girl during the same walk, or perhaps he’d only think of himself.
Regina hears laughter and looks up from her book and observes a young couple walk past her bench, holding hands. They don’t speak to each other, the young couple, they just alternate between light laughter and the hearty kind. Regina thinks they might stop laughing, but whatever the cause of their mirth, it proves still too funny for anything but more laughter. The young couple laughs intermittently for the entire thirty seconds it takes them to pass Regina’s bench.
Now Regina’s melancholy yields to an appreciation for the beauty of the trees surrounding her, buildings on the square as their backdrop, a plot of green grass preserved for all time within her city. Most of the day lies ahead, she thinks.
On her walk home to 10th and Porter she takes the same route. Passing her favorite restaurants, this time she thinks only of her love for their food.
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