You Will Be Okay, Too

3 a.m. and I am here at the window again, resting my forehead against the freezing glass, hoping the cold will numb some of these nonstop worries that come swarming into my brain night after night. Less than half an inch of glass separates this crowded head of mine from the frozen stillness outside.

Nobody is out on nights like this. No drunks roaming through the alley, picking through the garbage bins; no cars passing by with music coasting out of their rolled-down windows.  Only coal trains move through these sub-zero nights, their lonely whistles calling out in the darkness, following their rumbling wheels all along the length of the tracks. 

3 a.m. and all I want is for my mind to be still, for it to stop running in circles, for it to stop panicking about everything. Even if only for a moment. I want the walls to stop closing in. I want my hands to stop shaking. I watch the silent snow gleaming under the moonlight; clinging to clusters of yellow and orange leaves holding on to tree limbs. I put my head against the glass; try to absorb the outside quiet through osmosis.   

   

3 a.m. and some of us just cannot sleep. Bad dreams and heads full of murk.

When I lived in California, my apartment was on the top floor of my building and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the downtown streets. During the day, they were packed with people. Shoulder to shoulder. Nights, though, were a different story. Everything was desolate, covered in an eerie silence. When I couldn’t sleep, I would do exactly what I do now: sit in front of the windows and look out at the grid of empty sidewalks and streets deserted by a sleeping world.

I wasn't alone.

On the roof of the neighboring building, there was a man who came out every night to chain smoke. It was just him and me and the silent pavement below us. We met up like this quite often; he brought his countless packs of cigarettes and I brought my countless worries. The two of us holding a vigil of sorts over the staggered billboards, the tall, dark buildings and the maze of gutters swathed in frosted fluorescent lights oozing from bar windows. I would come to the window and he would look over at me, very briefly, and then turn back to his cigarette. Embers glowing orange with every deep inhale, grey wisps of smoke floating from his mouth and lingering in the mute nighttime air. He was very handsome and he always wore the same clothes: blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Sometimes, he paced back and forth in a deep trance. Most of the time though, he sat on the edge of the roof and let his legs dangle over the vacant stoop far below him.

God, he was sad. Sadness radiated from his every pore and drifted over to me. I could feel it through the glass.

Once, I came to the window and saw him sitting hunched over, curled into a tight ball with his head in his hands. His whole body crumpling over the roof’s edge; his cigarette wilting between his fingertips. Maybe he was crying. I can’t be sure. He looked utterly defeated. I stared at him and hoped he would look over at me, so he would know that I was there with him and that I understood. But he never did look up. He just folded deeper into himself and kept his head buried in his hands. 

Not that I had any great words of wisdom for him. I see you, is really all I would have been able to say. Would that have been enough? Sometimes, that is the only thing we are able to do for one another. I see you and you are not alone in this. Sometimes, all we can do is sit with someone and help them carry their sadness, so they don’t have to do it by themselves. I’m right here with you and I feel the same way. Because it is such a heavy weight to have to bear alone. I see you. Your story is my story.

Sometimes, that is all we can do.

I didn’t see him on the roof again after that night. I don’t know what happened to him. Maybe he was finally able to fall asleep. I hope so.

Some of us though, just cannot sleep, no matter what we do. Some of us sit up at all hours of the night staring at empty streets, surrounded by quiet buildings and blank windows. And we worry, worry, worry. Or we smoke and smoke and smoke. Or we give up treading water and let ourselves sink deeper into our depressions, losing ourselves bit by bit.

Some of us do this every night. And you wouldn’t think that we would ever be here. Awake at this hour, worn out and full of fear. Because we are so very pretty or so very handsome or so very clever and smart. And life is so very easy for us. Isn’t it? Isn’t life so very easy for some of us?

But I can tell you that some of us have been to some very scary places, and when we emerged we barely recognized ourselves. And now, we can’t sleep.

I see you. You are not alone in this.

If you ever happen to find yourself in front of a window watching the sky in the dead of night, chances are good that I am doing the same thing. I am watching the same sky.

I’m right here with you and I feel the same way.

Maybe snow is falling from your sky, or maybe it’s rain. Maybe your sky is clear and full of stars. Or maybe you are quite boozy and your sky is a blur of white light and black space that won’t stop spinning. Maybe everyone is looking at this sky. Maybe it’s only some of us. Or maybe it’s just you and me.

And that’s better than fine. If we’re alone, then we will be alone together. Just you and me and whatever sky is above us.

Everything will be okay. And you will be okay, too. With a sky like this, how can it not be okay?

We will be just fine.

You and me.