A Night On The Ave

1. Amber’s Hollow

I trace my fingers over the spine of every book, trying to decide which one needs to come home with me the most. I'm pondering fantasy books; The Hobbit, American Gods, Baptism Of Fire, and a dozen others. I'd been combing the aisles for hours and I still couldn't make a decision. Picking a book, for me, is like trying to adopt a baby; I can look all it, talk to it, and flip through its pages, but when I go home and it down with it, there's no telling what kind of bond will form, what kind of child I'm taking home. It may take me weeks and months to love it, or I might adore it in an instant. I might pick it up and read it every chance I get, or I might be cold and distant to it. It's always a gamble buying a book. One that pays off often, but a gamble nonetheless.

I finally land on a choice, The City We Became by N.K Jemisin. It's recent and struck me as personal and important. N.K Jemisin had caught my attention recently as a prominent black author, and being a black man trying to do the same thing, it feels worth giving her work a try. Likewise, I'd decided that I need to be more in tune with my own culture, and this felt like a first step at identifying more with the black side of myself, as well as feeding my creativity. I take the book off the shelf, content with the decision. "Finally he returns. God are you indecisive," Amber exclaims as I come from behind the shelves and approach the register. I give a small chuckle as I place the book on the counter. "No I'm serious, you take forever back there. I mean are you reading the books here in the store?" she asks while I reach for my wallet. "No of course not, I have no time for that," "Oh but you can gawk at the covers for hours on end. What did you settle on anyways?" she took the book in her hand and examined it.

"N.K Jemisin, you're gonna love her. And I'm gonna love the $20.68 going into my register," I hand her the cash as she bags the book.

"Thanks Amber. And I'm sorry I took so long I just..."

"I get it Marcus. I opened The Hollow for people like you. It's just that, I can't close when you're in here. So if you're gonna come, come earlier. Unlike you, I sleep at a reasonable hour,"

"Right, absolutely. Got it," "Thirty-two cents is your change," she took the coins and my receipt and dropped them in my hand. With my left, I took the change, and with my right, I gently held her hand over the counter. Her nails were a fine, glossy red, which the lights of the store reflected. She looked at me through small round spectacles and smiled.

"So, how've you been?" I asked in a low tone.

"I've been great. It's been a while you know,"

"Yeah, I've been busy. between work and the book I haven't had much free time," I responded. Admittedly not very smooth, but I mean she did ask.

"So, what're you doing tonight?" she leaned forward, holding her head in her free hand.

"I have a movie to catch. After that, I'm just gonna see where the night takes me,"

"Mhm, well here's hoping it takes you to my door," Amber smiled slyly, her lipstick making her lips look even fuller than they were.

"Look, Amber. I know we-"

"Shhh. Stop, or you'll ruin it. Enjoy the book, and the movie. And come see me on your way home," She took my hand, and nuzzled her forehead into it. She let go, returning to whatever duties she had to finish before closing. I gave myself a minute to relax, but the smile on my face wasn't going anywhere.

"Have a good night Marcus,"

"You too Amber,"

I grab the bag and head out the door. As I return to the cold, stiff air, I take in the ambiance of the night. I can hear music playing down the street. It sounds like blues, or maybe rock. I can't be sure. The lights of the shops are like a blanket, which I wear snug over my Autumn red hoodie. I put in my headphones and press play, as the blissful sounds of vaporwave spill into my ears. I walk down the street, holding my book tight, happy as I make my way toward the theater. The rain begins to pour, and the street starts to shine. As I put up my hood and run down the ave, I knew that this, more than anything else, was what happiness looked like.

2. Street's Cinema

"One ticket for the 10 pm showing please," I tell the box office worker. We're under the canopy of the theater, safe from the rain, though I got plenty wet on the way. She rips off the ticket as I hand her the cash.

"You're in theater three. Enjoy the show," she says with a smile.

"Thanks you too," I said as I ran into the building. Behind me, arguing in the rain, were two guys debating which Tarantino film is best. Usually it’s a discussion I'd join in on, but they're both too wrong to be helped, so I carry on with my business. The lights in the lobby are so dazzling I almost forgot what I came for. My eye is caught by dozens of posters and trinkets that decorate the humbly sized lobby. Even though I've seen it all a million times, there's always something new in the decor I can't help but appreciate, whether it be a new cutout, a locally done poster, or a new piece of memorabilia out for display. In my trance, a call from the concessions stand realligns my focus.

"Yo Marcus!" Don calls, with my usual order (a large popcorn, a mango slushie and a Crunch bar) set out in front of him.

"You're the best man, thank you," "No problem no problem," he replied. "I'm not late am I?" Don checked his watch. Behind him, the popcorn kettle sounded off as it filled with hundreds of soft white clouds, and the hot dogs rotated as they baked under the golden light of the oven.

"Nah, you still got like five minutes," he told me.

"Ok cool," I said. "Sooo... what's up with you?"

"Nothing much, just been working," he responded as he rang me up for the order.

"Bro! I almost forgot," Don yelled suddenly. He bent down behind the counter, disappearing for a moment. When he came back up, he was holding a plastic popcorn holder shaped like the head of my favorite superhero.

"Oh they came in, sick,"

"Yeah these things are pretty cool. Now take it and go 'cause we aren't supposed to give these away. I'll be in the back when we close with the other thing," he told me with a whisper.

"Alright I'll see you then,"

I took my snacks and the popcorn holder and walked off toward the theater. As I entered the auditorium, there was an insurance playing. I quickly walked past the screen and found a seat in the middle and toward the back. As I settled in my seat, I turn my phone off and sit in anticipation of the movies beginning. The lights dim slow and the audience becomes a crowd of shadows around me as the music blares and the title card flashes. By its end, the film is incredible. I love mysteries, especially ones with such a heavy noir style. The characters were all so layered and interesting, and I could just drool over how well shot it was. One thing I love is films about morality, human nature, and the contrasts in our mentalities. Films that show how complex living is, and how hard doing the right thing can be. This movie was everything I love about cinema, and as I spill out into the lobby with the rest of the crowd, I feel satisfied and complete.

After the giant neon sign shut off, and I'm done chatting with everyone outside about the movie, I meet Don in the alley behind the theater, where he's standing with a huge rolled up poster.

"It might be a little dirty, but it's in good condition," he told me as I came up to him.

"Not a problem. Thanks again man,"

"Yeah of course. You take care Marcus. I'll see you around like a donut," Don said straight-faced as he left for his car. I went the opposite way and returned to the avenue. The rain had cleared up, and the night was still young. I figured while I was out I could stop by Phoebe's and throw back a drink before she closed. Even with more to do that night, I figured a quick detour wouldn't hurt. So I put my headphones back in and tucked the poster and bucket under my arm as I head down further down the street, and a little bit further away from responsibility.

3. Phoebe's Speakeasy

Phoebe's is always open this time of night. After everyone locks up and turns out the lights, her lounge is still full of life. It's like a candle in the darkness of night, offering peace and comfort for those without much else. A lot of places here are like that, it's why I love this place so much. I turn into an alley and walk past trash cans and old crates. My shoes splash in dirty puddles, and stain my shoes deep. On my right is an unmarked wooden door on a tired looking brick building. I knock twice, then wait for an answer.

"Password?" a deep voice asks behind the door.

"Aw hell, she gave me the new one this morning. It's ummm," I think for a moment.

"Copycat killer?" The voice says nothing. After a moment, the door unlocks and swings open. I nod at the doorman as I pass and walk down the stone steps which lead inside. As I come into the speakeasy, I look to see who's still around. The oldheads are in the corner playing cards. They've got a cloud of smoke around their heads, which grows thicker with every hand. They must've been playing a while; I could barely see their faces to call out and say hello. The band went home hours ago, save for Dontai, who was still sitting on the classy stage in the back, riffing on his bass. Besides them, the rows of booths and dark wood tables were empty, though the lights on the wall still glowed purple. At the bar, Phoebe was cleaning glasses and organizing bottles. She looks up for a moment, and smiles as she meets my gaze. Her platinum blonde hair was up in a ponytail, and she was wearing an old, wrinkled grey shirt. She was covered in beer stains, and her eyes said she hadn't slept more than eight hours in the past few days.

"How was the movie?" she asked. I sat down in front of her, eager to start talking. I set my things down and watched her work.

"It was amazing. Everything I could've asked for. It was somber and bombastic and exciting, I mean this might be the best one of the year. I snagged a poster from Don before I left, you wanna see it?" I told her, waving my arms around like an idiot out of excitement.

"I'll see it on your wall some time, those things are hard to roll back up. Glad you had fun though. You want a drink?" she asked.

"Sure pass me a uh..." I turned and looked back at the room.

"Pass me the usual," I said in a hushed tone. With a smirk and a roll of her eyes, Phoebe reached under the counter and pulled out a green glass bottle with no label. She opened it on the edge of the bar then set it in front of me.

"Mmm, good ale," I said after the first sip, knowing damn well it was just Sprite.

"Yeah, I bet it is," Phoebe said, giving me a sideways glance. She never thought I had anything to hide, and she was probably right, but I had spent too much time pretending already to give up the lie.

"So how's the book? You actually get anything done or have you been on your ass daydreaming about Amber?" she poked. I slammed the bottle down, remembering that alcohol was supposed to taste bad.

"I don't daydream about her. And the book is going smooth. I'm pretty far with the edit actually. In the next couple weeks it might... it might actually be done," I said, a smile growing on my face. It hadn't occurred to me until then, but I was actually almost done with a full novel. My life's dream was a few months away, and I could barely fathom it. But I was there, forging the warm metal of my ambition into a reality. I was lost in thought for a moment, trying to wrap my head around it, how it all came together. The deep, echoing sound of the guitar filled my ears, making my reflection feel all the more calm and special.

"That's great Marcus. I'm proud. I know you still have to get all the business stuff done, but you've come a long way. You should be happy," Phoebe said, ending my moment of gratification.

"Yeah, I should be," I let out a deep sigh. She wanted to know what it was, but I didn't know either. Maybe it was just stress or anxiety. I took another sip and told myself that whatever had just hit me would pass. It always did.

"So really, how is Amber? How are you and Amber rather?" Phoebe asks cheekily.

"She's doing good. And I'm alright too,"

"Oh my God Marcus, don't do that,"

"What!"

"Dance around my question. I mean just say you think the girl is cute, damn!" Phoebe exclaimed. As she threw her rag down, the guys in the back started putting the chairs back and collecting the cards.

"I don't like her Phoebe, we're just good friends. I mean this isn't high school, we're just two grown people who have similar interests and talk a lot. I'm not chasing girls and keeping crushes," I tried to explain.

"No, you're both bookworms who wanna be together, but you're too scared to just ask her out. Marcus I'm gonna tell you like this, she's honestly hot and she wants you. If you don't say something now she's gonna slip by, and you're gonna be crushed," Phoebe wiped her brow as she finished working. I turned her words over in my head, considering how right she was. Usually she wasn't at all, but that night I couldn't help but think of Amber and her touch, Amber and her scent, and feel... elated. And as my heart fluttered, I thought that maybe Phoebe had a point.

I stood up gathered my things and stood as she threw her black leather jacket on. The old timers left, still cracking wise, the stink of beer in front of every word. They didn't bother saying goodbye, but Phoebe knew she was appreciated. Dontai carries his bass up the stairs and waves at Phoebe and me and he leaves. I think if the short time I played drums with him, and give him a wave back. We wait for a moment, then follow them back up to the alley. The lights die slowly, and the speakeasy waits in silence for the next night to come. As I return to the street, we part ways. Phoebe gives me one final glance before she disappears from sight, telling me to take her advice. My blank stare back let's her know that I'll at least remember it. As I head back up the street, comforted by our conversation, I take a deep breath of the cold air and prepare myself for the last stop of the night.

4. Wishy Washy Laundromat

I left some clothes at the Wishy Washy before I head out earlier. I usually take care of errands during the day but... well that's a lie I usually don't take care of errands, but leaving the clothes there makes me responsible for picking them up later. And if I'm already here, I might as well do the laundry. It's little tricks like that help me stay focused on all the tasks I have to keep up with. I mean, maybe I just have undiagnosed ADHD but this works for now, and it's cheaper than medication.

Even at this hour, there are still a few people inside. There's a man wearing a trench coat standing over a dryer. I always see him in on cold days like this. We've exchanged words, but I'm not sure what his name is. Charles is doing a load with his daughter Mei, who's swinging her legs and watching some old sitcom on the tiny wall-mounted TV. I used to babysit for him when she was younger and I was still an intern. She used to help me work on my drafts and read my manuscripts from when I was in high school. These days Charles has a sitter, but I still come by and have dinner with them from time to time. As I step into the door I wave at them. He's preoccupied reading emails, but he stops long enough to acknowledge me. The two of them wave back as I approach the front desk. Leonard, the owner, is sitting in his chair, sleeping face down.

"Leonard. Leonard. Leonard hey!" I called. He rose, wiping the drool from his mouth as he tried to remember who I was. He was an older guy, who had no business still working at his age. But he took pride in servicing the community, despite what this moment of him sloppily sleeping may suggest.

"It's Marcus. you got my clothes?" I asked as he came to.

"Uh, yeah man. Behind me there, ticket number five," he responded as he fell back asleep. I slipped him a five and went to get my bag. More than some of the other spots on the ave, I love the laundromat. When Phoebe's is too loud and Amber kicks me out, I come here to get some reading done. It doesn't feel like it should be a date spot or an attraction of any sort, but there's something comforting about the Wishy Washy. It's like a haven for the bored and lonely. Being here means being able to breathe and relax, at least until the rinse cycle ends. And because everyone stops here at one time or another, it's like a central nerve of the community. I make a big deal out of everything though, so who knows. Maybe it is just another laundromat.

I dump my clothes in, checking all the pants pockets afterward. I come out with ten dollars, a Now and Later, and a note on my last short story. I pour the detergent and slide in the quarters. As the machine fills with water, I take a seat and think over the night's events. It'd been a good outing, all things considered. It was an especially calm night, and I felt good having seen so many of my friends. Though there was only one thing I was still hanging on. In an instant, my mind wandered to Amber. She wanted me to stop by, she said as much herself. She wanted to see me, regardless of the time. But was it a joke. No, not with those eyes it wasn't. What did she really mean though? Did she really want me, or did she just want something from me? What if it was a joke, and she laughs at me through her peephole or something. I mean, where am I supposed to get my books if I screw this up? Where would I find someone else like her? Man, maybe I've got a bit of anxiety too. The seconds were drops of water, falling from the faucet with an irritating slowness. I turned over a thousand thoughts while I stared into the vortex of cotton I was stuck waiting on. In my impatience I went to the vending machine twice, tied and untied my shoes, bit my nails and read one of the detergent bottles. Kinda wanna know what a tetrasodium is now.

Drowsiness started to set in as I moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer. The guy in the trench coat had left, Leonard was snoring louder than before, and the TV was now showing an infomercial for some fancy new vacuum cleaner. Partway through I took down the number. I figured the vacuum itself, plus two filters and a free handheld vacuum was worth $89.99 plus shipping and handling. As the clothes started the last leg of their journey, Charles walked over, his machine and his inbox empty.

"How's it going?" he asked me.

"Good, good. Had a pretty good night. What about you?" I responded.

"Just been running errands with Mei. She loves being up this late. I don't know why, I'm exhausted," Charles set his bag down and scratched his nose.

"Well she lives in a beautiful city, can you blame her? It's why I stay up so late too,"

"Beautiful," he scoffed.

"Five blocks from here my cousin got mugged, and just the other day a taxi hit a guy on 52nd. I like it here too, but I don't see the beauty in that," Charles explained, starting every sentence with a yawn. He's always been like this, cold to the city. I never understood how you could be a part of something so grand and be unable to appreciate its beauty. He's as artistic as me, but I guess he just prefers a rural setting. If Indiana was the publishing capital of America I'm sure he'd be very happy in a suburb somewhere.

"Sure, the people can be awful, and they've always been crazy on 52nd. But the city itself, its gorgeous," "Yeah, maybe. To each their own I guess." He paused to check the time. I did the same, not realizing how late it was.

"So how's work been?" I asked.

"Amazing as usual,"

"That's great. I'm glad things are running smooth in the art department,"

"It really is," Charles exclaims. If there is one thing he's passionate about, it's his work. Every time we talk I love to get him going, just to see that smile on his face grow.

"Doing so many books and variants, bringing peoples imagination to life, it's so fufilling," he tells me, his face lighting up more with every word.

"I mean you should see it," he continues, "all these authors, their eyes shine and they tear up when they see our work. I love it, I really do. I love being the cause of that." My machine goes off as the clothes drop to the bottom of the dryer.

"That's great Charles really. And I'd love to hear more but I gotta get home. But we gotta grab coffee one of these mornings. I'm always free before work," I said as I opened the machine.

"Yeah I gotta get Mei home too, but it was a good talk. I'll be seeing you Marcus,"

"Be seeing you," I packed up my clothes and put my things in a bag I had washed. As I lugged everything out the door, I took one last breath of the night air. This late, there's nothing left to do but go home. With the day behind me and my rest ahead of me, I look forward to my final waking hour. I dig in my pockets for my keys, and splash through a couple puddles as I stroll back to my apartment.

5. Scribe Ave Apts

The lights in the hall were flickering again. As I walked up the stairs, I heard swing music playing in one of the apartments. The couple inside was shuffling around and laughing with each other as the music picked up tempo. Before I went up to the next floor, I heard a loud bump and a glass shatter. On the fourth floor, one under my own, I stopped my ascent and walked down the hall. With all my laundry in tow I knocked on the door to Apt. 407 and waited for her to answer. As the lock clicked, it occured to me that maybe I shouldn't do this with a giant sack of clothes in my hands. In a fit of anxiety I threw my laundry to the right, and straightened my posture as the door swung open.

Amber stood in the doorway, her hair up and her lips shining. She was wearing a red robe, and her pink bunny slippers. She smelled like lilacs and kisses, a sweet but subtle scent. As she looked up at me with her soft hazel eyes, I couldn't help but smile back at her.

"Hey you," she said, stepping out into the hall.

"Hey,"

"So how was your night?" she asked.

"Pretty good actually. I got a lot done, saw a lot of people. Yeah, yeah tonight was really good," I told her.

"That's good Marcus." She got closer and put a hand on my back. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight.

"You about to go to bed?" she asked.

"No of course not, what the hell?" I said with a yawn.

"Right of course not," she repeated. She snuggled against my chest, putting her hair in my face.

"So... are you coming in then?" I thought about it for a moment. It was the first time she'd ever asked him to enter her apartment. All my senses were full of her, the smell of her perfume, the touch of her skin, the sight of her beautiful face. It was a moment so full of excitement. Full of love and passion. As I pulled away from her, I thought it was perfect. Me and her for the rest of the night. We could have read, or talked, or watched a movie. We could kiss each other, in the comfort of her room, or fall asleep in each other's arms and separate at sunrise. But in every scenario, we weren't dating. We might've been with each other, but we weren't together. At that point, it dawned on me that I didn't just want Amber, I wanted a relationship with Amber. And if I wanted that, then I couldn't just have her for a night. No matter how golden of an opportunity it was.

"I... I'm gonna take you out first," I told her, "I don't know when, but I am. You... I want more than this. I want to be with you. So... keep your ringer on. Just in case. Like in case I call." She looked down and smiled. I was an awkward mess, but I guess she liked something I said.

"Okay then. Just don't keep me waiting," Amber said. She looked into my eyes for a moment, hesitating. Then, in a rush, she jumped up and kissed me on the cheek. Before I could say anything she turned and closed the door. Feeling giddy and satisfied, I turned and gathered my things before heading upstairs. Phoebe's somewhere cheering right now, having finally been right about something.

The entrance to the roof was on the eigth floor. It was a hatch in the ceiling meant for maintenance and construction, but plenty of us went up there when no one was looking. I usually go early in the morning or late at night, just to get a good look at the city as the sky turns a violent shade of orange. On the fifth floor, I open my apartment door and throw my bags in the doorway. Then, up on the eight floor, I took an empty milk crate from the corner and used it to reach the lever. I opened the hatch and felt relieved as I heard horns honk and wind whistle.

Climbing on the roof, I closed the hatch and reminded myself to listen for the sound. Close to highways and cities you can hear it well, the constant noise of traffic. It's a quiet sound, ambient and distant, but it's comforting. Even when there's no one around, being able to hear the world breathe reminds me that I'm never truly alone. Few things are as calming for me. On the edge of the roof, I peer down at the avenue. The symmetry of the lamp posts traces up the street, acting as candles to guide us through the dark. All the shop signs are still on, painting the asphalt in neon shades of red, purple, and yellow. Nothing else compares to it, the buildings and stores that make up our community. Here lives art and passion, emotion and care. We all come together to make this street a haven for those full of life, and a home for anyone without one. I look down at the theater and the laundromat, the arcade and the alleys, and I wish the whole world could look like this. I wish everyone had a place where they could wake up and be happy, and never be too afraid of anything because they were surrounded by those that love them. As people, it's not just something we need, it's something we all deserve. So as I walk away from the view, I count myself lucky that I live in such a wholesome, beautiful place.

The close of my night was spent in solitude. I put my things from the theater away, put my book on its shelf, and left my laundry to be folded by a me with more energy. A quick shower kept me up another moment, but even as I was out and about I could hear my bed calling me. I would've loved to spend another hour typing away at my keyboard and flipping through my books, but after a hard day and a long night, nothing sounded better than a deep sleep. The duvet wraps around me, a soft embrace to carry me into my dreams. It was a darling of a night, so beautiful I could cry. I felt truly at peace and closer than ever to my friends. Nothing that profound had happened, nothing incredibly special, but I felt loved and apart of something. I felt valued. I felt real. Before I drifted off, I thought of something sweet to tell everyone the next day. Somewhere in my heart the words lie, though by the morning I couldn't bring myself to remember them.