The phone call ended. Time seemed to jump out of the unvarying sequence that it had previously honored so meticulously. The clamor in the next room matched the jumble of thoughts within my head. Was I to sullenly address the party of this room, and receive drunken and inevitably half-hearted sympathy? Of course not. I started towards the exit, only to be addressed moments later by a familiar sounding female voice.
“Where are you going?” it asked. So many words and feelings flowed through me that I could not find anything to say, nor the courage to turn ever so slightly and identify the face of this voice.
I managed to reply, “nowhere,” and promptly departed.
What was I to make of my situation? I no longer had a parent to call who I could report to, and who would undeniably find a way to address my sorrow in a comforting manner. Both had been removed from my life in a matter of seconds... a minute earlier, I was experiencing the “joy” of superfluous consumption and bland social interaction, which I may have still been participating in had I ignored the phone call like I almost did. But I answered it, and my life quickly yet permanently changed; I was unsure of how to react. I exited the monstrous steel structure, then was faced with a shortness of breath that I often experienced when engaged in this introspection, which was now impossible to end. However, I managed to respire, my eyes still guided my path, and my legs continued to follow it. The only sensible conclusion I could reach was that despite my newfound loneliness and lack of guidance, I was still here.
My response to the unknown girl refreshed itself in my mind. As I walked aimlessly away from the meaningless social gathering I had just attended, far yet simultaneously so close to the apartment that has served as my sanctuary for as long as I have been in existence, I truly felt that I was headed nowhere. Once I got to my “destination,” what was I to make of it? I would open the door, proceed through it and close it, only to be greeted by silence and reminded of my now absent mentors. I decided I truly was heading nowhere. I walked along in a naturally morose fashion, and thought it might do me some good to see some things. Any things. I just needed to be reminded that they had not been taken from me as well.
At one point during my haphazard wondering, which suddenly strangely resembled life itself, I arrived at the Brooklyn Bridge. At first I questioned the bridge's very existence; after all, I could swim across the river if I absolutely needed to get to Manhattan. Regardless, I was at once closer yet still miles away from my supposed heaven, which I could only now envision as a hell created by my past pleasures. This universe of memories abruptly engulfed me, and I had the urge to both laugh and cry, neither of which occurred. I remained trapped in my mental abyss while my legs continued to propel my body forward.
At the apex of the bridge, I decided to...