I wore my chunky headphones out into the morning streets. Typically, I’d rather walk New Haven with open ears to catch Christ Church’s bells or the rumbling of a car about to run me over, but I woke up in a Broadripple is Burning kind of mood (and darling I’m lost, I heard you whispering that night in Fountain Square…) and needed to succumb. Plus the headphones served as excellent earmuffs against the piercing cold.

I walked the two blocks to Willoughby’s, bought a large French, and opened The New Yorker. These are usually my favorite Saturday morning activities, but the coffee tasted more like a mild roast, and I couldn’t concentrate on the article. I glanced across the street at the newish addition on the Yale Art Gallery, and I saw the reflection of a hawk soar from frame to frame on the tiled windows, which I took to mean it was time to fly.

I stepped outside, pulled the headphones over my ears, and clicked my ipod onto the new Florence, a song that has been the soundtrack of my days lately.

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments…

I found my feet taking me the longer way home down York Street, stepping quickly to the beat. I felt the gust of the drums rush out from the pores of my legs and hands, lifting me down Broadway. Florence’s hopeful voice carried me towards Park Street. Was I dancing?

All of these questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground…

I was dancing, just a little. I looked behind me and there was a man holding a grocery bag. Ahead of me, another man approached with his hands in his pockets. I clenched me fists happily as the song guided my every move.

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off…

I was singing! Out loud! Loudly! In front of these strangers on Park Street at 7:45 in the morning. I couldn’t help it. God knows what I sounded like–the music was too loud for me to hear. I smiled what felt like a perfect, face-shattering smile, and the guy with his hands in his pockets smiled back. Maybe I didn’t sound that bad. Or maybe he could somehow feel the same joy I felt. I hope so. He deserved it. Maybe I did, too.

I turned right onto Edgewood as the song wound down. My fingers were tingling and tears stung at my eyes. How did such beauty track me down and open me up?

Advertisement