Soundwalking

I didn’t sleep much last night. Nodded off around 2 a.m. and woke up at 4:30 with Cameron Winter’s,“Vines,” stuck in my head. I listened to it a few times mentally, then in my headphones. I called my mom, the earliest riser I know, around 5. We talked, I got back in bed around 6, and tried to sleep—no luck. At 6:30 I got up, showered, changed, ate, and by 7 I was out the door, soundwalking. 

I generated two prompts. First, to follow someone as long as I could, then stay in the spot where I lost them and listen. I’m not particularly adept in the art of stealth, of tracking, so I generated a second prompt. The second one was to get on the bus or train at the nearest stop and stay on longer than I’d like to. Better, safer, less creepy; yet, once I locked the door behind me, I felt the urge to follow the first person I saw: a man in a hoodie and baggy jeans, carrying a plastic grocery bag full of who knows what. 

Tired mind, tired ears, tired eyes. Immediately—and afterwards, intermittently—I lost my grasp on the task at hand, finding it much easier to listen to the music in my head, playing on repeat. 

Vines. I feel loneliest when I’m with you.

Between lines, between instances of Vines, were moments of listening. The man turned left on Lewis Ave, headed north, in the direction of the J/M. I heard the city birds for what felt like the first time. A chorus of them, chirp chirp chirping, flitting their wings as they flew low and south. Children walking into the school on the corner, an adult greeting them individually, by name. Michael. Kayla. My footsteps heavy on the concrete as I picked up the pace, trying to stay within a respectable distance of the man. 

The low hum of the city, waking up. Its yawning. 

Vines. Too late to live with my heart open. I feel loneliest when I’m with you.

The man turned the corner on Myrtle. A teenage girl on the phone, laughing. I’d like to hear through the line, on the crest of whatever technology enables phone calls. I’d like to hear what makes her laugh.

The predictable swishing, rubbing, chafing sound of a polyester coat before me. Satisfying. A series of abrasive beeps—a reversing pallet forklift in the cargo bay of Food Bazaar. Men calling orders to each other, unintelligible, even at their decent volume. The yawn as it widens. 

The man went into the Dunkin on the corner of Myrtle and Broadway, just beside the train station. I went in too. Some soft pop song. What can I get for you? I’ll have a medium hot coffee with four caramels and five creams. How are you, what can I get for you? I’ll have a medium iced coffee with one milk. One milk? Yeah. Really? Yeah.

Hi what can I get for you? The growl of the coffee makers as they make, the beep of the toasters as they finish toasting. What can I get for you? I have a medium hot with five creams and four caramels and a medium iced with one milk. Our coffees, ready. 

I felt like a stalker. I was.

Vines. Too late to live with my heart broken. I feel loneliest when I’m with you. I feel loneliest when I’m with you. 

We left, the man and I. We climbed the stairs to the train station. Honking at the intersection below—lawless, chaotic. Jacket sounds, backpack sounds. OMNY, Apple Pay, turnstile sounds. He stopped to check the schedule, I carried on, towards the platform. Two birds, one stone. Two prompts, one soundwalk. Stair sounds. Train sounds. 

I’ve never noticed how loud the car doors are, as they open and close. A deep, satisfying click as they latch and unlatch—friction, as they slide open and shut. I’ve never noticed the difference between above and below ground train sounds. Everything gets louder, amplifies, is so much more immediate and impending when sound bounces off the close walls rather than disperses into thin air. 

Tired mind. Vines. No longer young, no longer godless. Cursed with a life with you alone. 

Everything is louder when I lay eyes on it. Two women chatted down the car—I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I heard the tones of their voices as I watched their mouths move. One was deep and even, the other less so. Announcements, we arrived at Delancey-Essex. A mother and child sat down next to me, and the why, why, whys began. The short, dissatisfying answers began. Faint music from a phone across from me. Hardly loud enough to be perceptible, I had no sense of it, other than that it was there. 

I was exhausted, I collapsed, slumped in my seat and I listened to the words in my head. I wished they would say something new, go somewhere else, but it was all Vines. I like the way he enunciates, I like the way he sings “the young spirits they wither away,” emphasis on the “way” part of away. A complete change of tone, like hollowing out a wooden bowl. The scoop of it.

I feel loneliest when I’m with you. I feel loneliest when I’m with you. I feel loneliest when I’m with you. 

7:39. This is West 4th Street. Screech, unlatch, slide, adjusting bags, shuffling feet, swishing polyester. I couldn’t tell if I actually heard my heartbeat, or just felt it so heavily that it was like hearing. I felt as though I’d never be clean again. As though I’d never be whole again. 

I climbed the stairs, switched sides of the platform, waited for the downtown M, got on, turned off.

Vines. I feel loneliest when I’m with you.