Letter to a Stranger

Who are you? Where are you from? Give a place. Tell me how you were born and if your mother loves you. Tell me if when you are sitting in a room with four white walls, you feel suffocated. Then tell me if you feel guilty about that. Why? Because you know your lucky. How do you know? Maybe it's after you read a book. Maybe you saw a film, and it moved you. You read about a man who spent days locked in a prison with no windows. But you have windows. You get up, you open them and close them. You lock them and then unlock them. Noone comes. Noone stops you. You try a few doors. They open and close, except for the ones that are locked, but this is because they are not yours to open. You are free, but you can't feel it. You wonder if it is something that can be felt. You try. You go out and you buy a few things, with money you earned from your job. You don't make much, but you eat enough. Maybe too much. When you feel brave you step on a scale and when you walk off you decide to eat less. You probably won't. Sometimes you slip out the window after midnight, to see if you can. You can. You walk away a little, past the driveway or parking lot. You try to stay where there are lights. It's a little cold outside, but that's okay. You brought a jacket and if it starts to rain it doesn't matter because home isn't far. You like the rain, because that means there are no ceilings. If there are no ceilings, there are no walls. You remember that a lot of people don't have homes. This makes you sad. But you don't know what to do, so you keep walking. There aren't a lot of people around and you don't know whether that is comforting. Your footfall is loud and echoes, and it makes you feel lonely. Home is further now, and you know the further you walk, the longer it will take to get back. But you don't want to go back; you remember the four white walls and keep walking. You want to run, but running would be loud and would disturb... you don't know what because there is nothing and no one. But it would break something. The silence maybe, so you keep walking. Though, you think that if you don't stop and turn around soon you will never be able too. The street names are less familiar now. You've seen them once or twice, but not more. You start to remember your lefts and rights, and stay on a straight path as much as possible. Only houses stop you, and also where there are no lights. You want to go where there are no houses, but something tells you this is dangerous. You think of murderers. You remember what your mother, who loves you, told you. Bad people come out at night, to lonely places. Stay in a crowd, she says. Walk with a friends. But noone is awake anymore at this time and you didn't feel safe in the white walled room watching movies and feeling bad about yourself and the world and the man in the prison with no windows. You ask yourself what you are, alone, walking at night and what compells those you fear to do the same. Couldn't there be someone else too, like you, walking? You aren't a bad person. They might not be... Maybe you can meet and walk together for awhile. The houses are less now. You'd be glad of the company. A car will pass by every once in awhile, and they might slow a little as they pass and this will make you nervous. But they always pass, and you wonder who is in there and where they are going. Because it is so late. You light a cigarette. This comforts you some, and you aren't sure why. You want to show the street that you aren't scared, show the streetlights that even when you are alone, you can function. You can breathe, the smoke, in and out. This makes you feel more alive somehow, even though you know it is killing you. You wonder how far the ocean is, and whether you are walking north, south, east or west. You wonder what it was like before maps. You pass a bus map, knowing that if you read it, you could know where you were. You decide not to. You aren't sure why. You realize you have forgetten your list of lefts and rights but aren't sure you care. You think that maybe, if you kept walking, nothing could stop you. Only the ocean. You decide to walk until something stops you. You hope this will be the ocean. Time passes and you are hungry. All the stores are closed and there aren't many stores anyway. You muse that if you walk until morning, maybe you could buy a coffee, and a roll. Maybe not the roll, you said you'd eat less. But a coffee, like a cigarette would be good. You remind yourself that there are payphones and that you have friends. You can stop walking anytime, and call them, and they will come. It is good to have friends, but hard to find friends awake so late. You keep walking.

Or do you?

Tell me, stranger, are you still walking or have you turned back? I've always wanted to walk to the ocean but I'm scared. If you make it, tell me how it looks. Tell me how it felt to arrive. Tell me if you decided to cross then tell me how. How did you take your coffee? Did you buy the roll? Did you see the sunrise and how long did it take for people to come walk with you. If you returned, stranger, and didn't make it... please don't let the walls make you sad. I feel like that too, sometimes. You know...

I've always wanted to walk to the ocean. We might make it if we walk together.