There’s a fog that veils Wahiawa now. Not dense, but certainly looming. Under amber street light and moonless, cloudy sky, it hangs like some rusty bell tolled by a familiar but faceless phantom.
It is as if there was something that the twilight could not hold back from the day. Something that makes the night stuffy and the wind still and breath seemingly held by whatever anger that clutches it.
I take a walk around outside and light a cigarette, careful to not to be seen. I’ve so few left in this box, and none to spare for the ragged vagrants around the town. I look towards the heights and the stream of cars that ascend to it. Slow and steady, and still a line that moves even at this hour. I catch a glimpse of one driver and wonder how her day went. By her attire, she’s most likely an office worker, and by her dead gaze in her eyes, she has yet to leave the drone labor of paperwork there. It also looks like she spent an hour or more on the road from the slight grimace on her otherwise blank face. I know this all to well, for that same bottled frustration was upon me before I made this pit stop.
I take a long sip from a drink I bought, but does little to quell my day. I’m tired and beaten, and I’ve as much to do as any one person in the traffic before me. One last cigarette to procrastinate, and I leave.
It is a moment like this that I do wonder what echoes are held in this etherless night. Fatigue is set upon every shoulder under every hot shower from daily, thankless toil. There seems something that lingers under each beaten brow and sodden gaze that doesn’t wash clean with water or soap. Even upon the rustling of bedsheets and finally sleep, what darkness comes about in dreams.
I wonder why this fog is upon this town. I wonder what memory it carries, as it sits over tar and shingled roofs and hovers there as if to gaze upon us. I wonder what it will take with it as it seeps into where everything seems to be forgotten. What secrets, what curses murmured in the waking hours of the morrow. Upon the next morning, a baby cries, dogs bark, cars start, and the day begins once more, and the fog has seen naught but how this day will end too.
I wonder how it is that I can get off this ride.