Queensboro Dream
The other night I had this dream, it was so vivid and real, I woke up almost in tears and I could hear myself talking. This was my dream;
It was a grey morning underneath the Queensboro Bridge. It was too early to see the sun peaking out from behind the buildings. The streetlights had just barely shut off and a light fog was rolling in from the East River. I stood against a brick building with my eyes closed taking in the moment. Something sad had happened, but I still wasn't sure what it was. I was hoping to see someone I knew so that they could tell me the news.
Then I heard a skateboard hit the ground as a man jumped down the short stoop of an apartment building to my left. He was smoking a cigarette and had a large grey backpack slung over his shoulder. He took off towards the train station and I followed him trying to move quietly but confidently, hoping he wouldn't see me. Descending by Big Boi began to play as we traveled up the street getting farther from the river. He finally came to a stop at the Queensboro Plaza entrance of the train. I stopped about twenty feet behind him and quickly turned around hoping he hadn't noticed I was following him, but knowing he had. The music began to play louder the words "If ya don't know me by now" were surging through the air repeating over and over. I turned back to look at him and he was right next to me. But he wasn't a stranger, he was a friend.
"He died. In his sleep" he let out a sigh and stepped back an inch, still close enough for me to move in and hug him. We hugged, his bag dropped from off his shoulder and hundreds of little bottles of paint fell out. On impact they bursted open and created a lovely picture across the grimy sidewalk. It looked like a giant elephant painted all the colors you could imagine, it was beautiful. And if it's trunk hadn't been facing down, you would've thought it was a miracle.
The moment flashed away as soon as it appeared and we were on the train standing across from each other leaning against the silver poles. My eyes were red and my cheeks had streaks of tears on them. Dead, I thought, gone so suddenly. Never had I thought his death, this friend from so long ago, would hit me so hard. I let the tears begin to flow again as the train sped forth and stopped, sped forth and stopped. I was looking out of the window as the world sped by, then I felt nauseous and stared at my shoes instead.
My friend across from me sat down and opened up his backpack, pulling out a guitar and a violin. "I will play him back to life." he said as he wiped snot from his nose with his sleeve. "He will live again." He was shaking and sobbing, he passed me the violin and started to tune the guitar. The train came to a stop again, and a large group of people all dressed in black got on. I noticed every single one of them, friends from high school, come to pay their respects. We must have been on the way to the funeral. One red headed boy with the most adventurous spirit, his best friend, came up to me and whispered in my ear, "We have one last stunt to pull". He took a seat on my opposite side as far away from the others as he could. He took the violin from my hands and started to play the saddest song he could think of.
As the sadness began to fill the train the guitar joined in. The music rose to a symphony of heartache. Finally the train stopped, it was the end of the tracks. All of the people moved in unison off the train and down the stairs. The streets had just started to wake up, people were walking quickly in every direction. The read-haired boy leaned over to me, kissed me on the cheek then, belted out loud and deep, "RUN!" He grabbed my hand and we ran, all of us in different directions going who knows where. The pavement was too slow to meet our feet, we were almost flying, running, crying, and mourning our loss.
It was a grey morning underneath the Queensboro Bridge. It was too early to see the sun peaking out from behind the buildings. The streetlights had just barely shut off and a light fog was rolling in from the East River. I stood against a brick building with my eyes closed taking in the moment. Something sad had happened, but I still wasn't sure what it was. I was hoping to see someone I knew so that they could tell me the news.
Then I heard a skateboard hit the ground as a man jumped down the short stoop of an apartment building to my left. He was smoking a cigarette and had a large grey backpack slung over his shoulder. He took off towards the train station and I followed him trying to move quietly but confidently, hoping he wouldn't see me. Descending by Big Boi began to play as we traveled up the street getting farther from the river. He finally came to a stop at the Queensboro Plaza entrance of the train. I stopped about twenty feet behind him and quickly turned around hoping he hadn't noticed I was following him, but knowing he had. The music began to play louder the words "If ya don't know me by now" were surging through the air repeating over and over. I turned back to look at him and he was right next to me. But he wasn't a stranger, he was a friend.
"He died. In his sleep" he let out a sigh and stepped back an inch, still close enough for me to move in and hug him. We hugged, his bag dropped from off his shoulder and hundreds of little bottles of paint fell out. On impact they bursted open and created a lovely picture across the grimy sidewalk. It looked like a giant elephant painted all the colors you could imagine, it was beautiful. And if it's trunk hadn't been facing down, you would've thought it was a miracle.
The moment flashed away as soon as it appeared and we were on the train standing across from each other leaning against the silver poles. My eyes were red and my cheeks had streaks of tears on them. Dead, I thought, gone so suddenly. Never had I thought his death, this friend from so long ago, would hit me so hard. I let the tears begin to flow again as the train sped forth and stopped, sped forth and stopped. I was looking out of the window as the world sped by, then I felt nauseous and stared at my shoes instead.
My friend across from me sat down and opened up his backpack, pulling out a guitar and a violin. "I will play him back to life." he said as he wiped snot from his nose with his sleeve. "He will live again." He was shaking and sobbing, he passed me the violin and started to tune the guitar. The train came to a stop again, and a large group of people all dressed in black got on. I noticed every single one of them, friends from high school, come to pay their respects. We must have been on the way to the funeral. One red headed boy with the most adventurous spirit, his best friend, came up to me and whispered in my ear, "We have one last stunt to pull". He took a seat on my opposite side as far away from the others as he could. He took the violin from my hands and started to play the saddest song he could think of.
As the sadness began to fill the train the guitar joined in. The music rose to a symphony of heartache. Finally the train stopped, it was the end of the tracks. All of the people moved in unison off the train and down the stairs. The streets had just started to wake up, people were walking quickly in every direction. The read-haired boy leaned over to me, kissed me on the cheek then, belted out loud and deep, "RUN!" He grabbed my hand and we ran, all of us in different directions going who knows where. The pavement was too slow to meet our feet, we were almost flying, running, crying, and mourning our loss.
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