Crowded Rooms

Light streams through the open window, just big enough to graze my face with an afternoon gleam. The calendar glares back at me from my bookshelf. January. With each day that comes, this apartment becomes lonelier, nestled in the far corner of a city that never sleeps. It's a coffin of half-cleaned dishes and macrame wisteria. Dried tears cling to my eyes from last night's anxiety attack– an attempt to escape the daily numbness. Yet, I'm seated at my desk, sketching drooping wildflowers on a piece of paper.

     My old analog phone sits on the coffee table at the opposite end where it beeps once, twice, and fires a voicemail it has been repeating since Thursday. 

     "Hey, checking in on you. Are you alright? You usually answer your cell phone right away, but I haven't been hearing anything from you lately. I'm worried. I'm here for you."

     Their gentle tone leaves me in pieces each time for not responding, but I don't want to stop hearing it, no matter how much it stings my chest. Perhaps it makes my corner of the world less alone knowing there are people out there who care, or maybe I'm just too tired to shut it off. It switches to silence. The white noise drowns my ears. I need to stop wallowing in this emptiness. But I don't know how, even if the answers are right in front of me. 

     I give up. The desk chair knocks back on my heels as I go to grab my wallet and keys before slipping out the door, abandoning my empty apartment after the last couple of weeks. It's for the best, even if I'll be a mere ghost in the crowded rooms of Chicago. 

     The early autumn air wraps itself around me. People pass by without a giving chance as though my social anxiety wanted them to notice my despair. Why did I decide to go outside again? All these faces and none are them.

     I make my way to the navy pier. As the harbor comes into view a deep sigh departs from my lungs. Before I realize it, dark clouds splatter the skies, landing cool water droplets on my messy, brown hair. Of course. Skidding to a stop, I reach the railing along the pier. I gaze out to the world ahead. A small, barely noticeable grin shapes its way across my face. 

     Someone's hand brushes my right shoulder in a soft movement before appearing beside me. The smile on their face is full of care and light.

     "It's nice to see you again after so long," they say tenderly, "I've missed you. We usually spend mornings at Two Zero Three until they close, the routine hasn't been the same without you," they place their hand over mine, "you can tell me whatever is tearing you apart, you know that?"

     I didn't realize I was holding in tears until they were cascading down my face between a hesitant nod. They muffle their arms in a tight embrace around me. No matter how much I let the pit in my stomach fester with self hatred, knowing they won't leave me regardless of how somber I am fills me with warmth inside. 

     "I'm here, everything is going to be alright." They gently reassure, lifting one of their hands from around me to brush some of my hair away from my face. I take in deep breaths, exhaling shakily until they eventually calm.

     "Thank you, Flori." I murmur as I wipe my eyes with my damp sweater sleeve.

      "Of course," they smile, "Ephrem, your happiness means everything to me."

     I smile back, the fog in my mind clearing up with every word they say, convincing me out of the spiral of despair and desperation little by little.

Perhaps I'm a ghost in the makeshift Chicago streets; yet, there's always someone who would look for me in the crowded rooms.