Before Dawn

I woke up before the sun. I woke up before the city, before the din of car engines and terse, interminable phone conversations on the streets.

This is the best time to be awake. The sky was a hazy purple and the distant skyscrapers are fuzzy from the mist hanging in the air. It was a beautiful dream version of real life. 

I was slow when I climbed out of bed. My roommates were asleep in the nearby rooms, separated from mine by thin, white walls. I pad across the hard floor on my toes, and moved slowly so the rustle of my pajamas doesn’t travel beyond my own ears. I stopped in front of my wardrobe, and tugged the doors open. I pawed through my clothes, looking for something that’s comfortable enough for my walk, and nice enough for the rest of my day. I chose a pair of blue jeans and a blanket-soft sweater. I pulled on my sneakers, and stepped out of my room. 

The living room was lit in pale blue light from the window. I walked close to the wall to avoid the creaky boards near the center. I crossed the kitchen, where the door and key hook waited. I took my keys from their place, and slipped them into my pocket before leaving the apartment.

There were usually kids scampering around the halls, sometimes an adult on their phone, but today, at this hour, the building was empty. I heard my soft footsteps against the floor as I walked the entrance. I pushed open the door, and stepped outside. 

Buildings casted long, blue shadows across the streets. Cars napped along the edge of the street, getting in their last winks of sleep before their owners came by. I breathed in the cool air until my lungs couldn’t take any more, then released my breath. I put my hands in my pockets and walked down the urban forest, imagining the skyscrapers as trees. 

I’d lived in the city my entire life. The parks here are constantly under siege by cars on the streets, constantly surrounded by noise. I had, however, gone to a truly quiet forest before. 

It was when my grandpa passed away a few years ago. He lived outside of the city, in some town I can’t remember the name of, and that’s where his funeral was held. My family piled into Dad’s big white SUV, and away we went. The massive towers of the city faded into the background, then the white-washed suburbs, and all that was left was flat land dotted with trees. My family talked, and I talked with them, but as the hours passed, my energy drained and I got quieter. By the time the funeral was over, I was running on the last percent of battery life. A few others in my family were just as tired, so we took a break before forcing ourselves into the SUV again. 

I pulled myself away from the rest of my family, and explored the town. I found a park nestled between a gas station and a Ma-and-Pop convenience store. I ventured down a dirt road. I gazed through the dense foliage, believing that if I looked hard enough I would see a street or building in the distance, but there were only more trees. I heard no cars or people, only the wind rustling the leaves. I heard the voice in my head, but it spoke in a soft and leisurely tone. I was used to a quick talking voice that reminded me of things on my to-do list and upcoming deadlines. This quiet voice told me about myself. It was honest, but it didn’t judge. I learned more about myself from that half hour than I had in years. The city streets weren’t quite a forest, but in the early hours, I could coax that soft voice out. 

I made it to the end of my block, and turned the corner onto the next street. A bark shattered my peace. A dark shape charged toward me from down the sidewalk, followed by a second, human figure. 

“Sasha! Stop!” The girl’s voice echoed across the buildings. 

I froze. 

The dog was a medium-sized breed with a shaggy coat. It’s red leash trailed behind. The dog lunged at my leg, and looked up at me with intense brown eyes. It grinned with its great, pink tongue lolling out passed its lips. The dog’s tail sliced side-to-side through the air. 

I sometimes encountered interlopers on my walks–graveyard shift workers trudging to their apartments or homeless guys wandering the streets. But this? I didn’t know how to deal with this. 

“Sasha!” The girl snatched up the leash, and yanked. The dog was pulled from my leg. When it tried to approach again, the girl reined her dog back. 

“I’m so sorry,” the girl said. “Sasha didn’t hurt you, did she?” 

I stared at the girl, unsure of what I was supposed to do with her. I figured that I should respond to her question. 

“I’m okay,” I answered. 

The girl let out a relieved sigh that was a decibel too loud for such an early hour. She looked like the barista from the local Starbucks, where loud machines and the hum of conversation made it impossible to think. Someone from that world shouldn’t be in this one. 

“I’m surprised to see someone else out,” the girl said. 

“Same here.” 

“I’ll sometimes come out here to, you know, get away from it all,” the girl continued. 

“Oh,” I said, “me, too.” 

The girl grinned wide and toothy, so I returned a smile of my own. 

“Well, sorry again. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again?” The girl said. 

“Maybe.” We’d see each other again some other calm morning from across the street, and wave at each other. We wouldn’t stop to talk, or even to say “hello,” because we’d know what the early morning was for. It sounded nice. 

The girl and I went our separate ways. I listened to her footsteps recede, sure I would hear her approach again one day.