I remember walking down in the moonlight, the curve of the road disappearing with its leftward bend. The bright yellow street lamps gently illuminated the street where no one stood, and I heard the rush of the freeway below. Lights rushing off into the distance, nowhere to go, nowhere to be. Just flying across a black divide. I heard the soft crush of the gravel beneath my feet and the sound of crickets hidden in the grassy hillside beneath me, and all I could feel was the cold. I’d come back home late at night, my cheeks frozen, feeling slightly disappointed. I’m not sure what I was expecting. It was better when she came with me. I’d sneak into her room and poke her until she woke up. Slightly unsettled, she’d groan and decide that a late night walk to the 7-11 to overdose on root beer and nachos was a good enough idea. Hopping the fence was easy, and we’d often make it over the top with not too much in terms of scuff marks and bruises on our shins. We walked quietly beside one another for a while. There wasn’t always a need to talk. Sometimes we’d wander to the middle of the street, and walk on the yellow dotted lines to prove we were invincible. We felt lonely a lot of the time, but we had each other.
I remember feeling lost. I remember feeling like anything was possible. Blasting Cher’s “Living Proof” while doing 75 on the freeway was liberating, and In N Out was always the destination. “We’ll always be there for each other, right?” We made promises to each other in the drive through, because that was the best place to talk about our feelings. I drove down one weekend listening to Kaskade, “It’s You, It’s Me.” The cold night air was electrifying.