I stood on a roof, red Solo cup in one hand, vodka soda in it, cigarette in the other hand. It was sometime after midnight. A party was going on behind me. I stood against the edge of this roof in Bed-Stuy and looked toward Manhattan. The lights of the Williamsburg Bridge had already been turned off. The Brooklyn Bridge was still lit up. I was in love with the darkness and the light punctuating it, a dream demarcated with dots of light.
Few things make me so happy as looking out over Brooklyn rooftops, imagining the lives in them, the lives that were in them. They form such a nice little vista, rising and falling, but only so much, all mostly in line with each other, silver painted roofs, brick exteriors, windows lit, windows unlit.
I thought about things, but in that wasted way one is likely to engage in when smoking a cigarette and looking out at the skyline of New York City. It was a mess of feelings, a mush of feelings, the thought about how much I love this city, how much I love being here, and how afraid I am of losing that feeling. Thoughts of death crept in here for some reason.
I rejoined the party.
I met a boy at the party. I actually met two. Lately, I’m not used to having successful flirtations with guys, but it was happening on that roof. Up in the clouds, magic happens. After flirting with this one cute architect for a long time, this other guy plopped down next to us, and I started talking to him. He was cute and weird and nice and had some energy about him that I wanted to wrestle him, where it seemed like that would probably be okay. He punched my stomach, my shoulders. I was smitten. We sat on the roof and talked about whatever people talk about while on a roof and dance music blasts not too far away.
The night went on. I left without getting his info. The night carried me to other parties, some goth thing, some Metro thing, and a friend’s house where we had sweaty sex until the sun was up.
I woke up in my bed yesterday sometime in the mid-afternoon. The rain started coming down shortly thereafter. I always appreciate a rainy day when I’m hungover and don’t want to leave my house. It makes me feel less guilty, makes the choice to stay in and do nothing that much easier.
The cute boy from the party messaged me back on Facebook. I had found him on there after leaving the party, hunting through the names of the people who were invited to it on Facebook until I found this guy. He gave me his number. We texted back and forth, made vague plans to hang out soon. He was watching The Sound of Music and eating Dominos. Basically, he seems perfect and needless to say I have a huge crush on him.