I am in love with the concrete jungle. I am most at ease when surrounded by steel and glass, buildings rising up like mountains, 2am just as bright as noontime. I am a pedestrian, happy to traverse on foot, happiest when riding the rail (when I can find one).
I find myself now trapped in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fields of corn and soybeans, country road with no sidewalks, dark nights and silence. It’s maddening. I’m a prisoner trapped in my own home, unable to go anywhere because anywhere isn’t in walking distance, not that it’s safe to walk on the street anyway. Country roads bring out the worst in drivers, who see the long-stretching, mostly deserted pavement as a challenge to drive as quickly and recklessly as possible.
The last time I attempted a walk I encountered a skunk.
Some people would be envious of the silence, the stars shining brightly, the remoteness, house tucked away in the trees and fields. I did my time in childhood; I want my city back. I miss popping out to the store to grab a forgotten ingredient for dinner. I miss catching a bus to meet my friends for ice cream. I miss people knowing what an iPhone is.
My days are spent in my pajamas, curled up in front of the television. The highlight of the evening is dinnertime, then dessert, then bed; then wake up and do it all over again. For some real excitement I’ll throw on my jeans and follow my parents into town to go grocery shopping.
I could be reading, or writing, or playing music, or anything productive; but the less I do, the less I want to do. Each wasted day drains my motivation until I’m nothing more than a lump on the couch with a carton of ice cream in my lap.
I live now in the sort of town that swallows people up. People are born here, they grow up here, and then they die here, having never crossed the county lines. I escaped once, fueled by knowledge that the longer I stayed, the harder it would be to leave. Now I’m back and already I can feel the country seeping in, eating away. I have to get out of here before it’s too late. I have to get out while I still feel the pull of the concrete jungle.