Small Towns at Sunset

I go biking near dusk, when the sun skims the surface of the horizon and the owls begin to hoot and the bugs begin to bite. 

When the sounds begin to fire off and I'm unsure if they're fireworks or shots echoing through the air.

I don't see fireworks tonight.

I ignore it. We've only had to call the police once and it wasn't the emergency line. Nobody died and no body was found, which means the woods down the road I can't go in anymore.

Stay away from the private property sign, they'll get you if you don't. Well, maybe. We don't know what happens when the street lights come on and the secluded private road that hosts the houses of the strangest people in Ohio falls into the darkness. 

I go biking near dusk, and the sun is setting, and it's getting in my eyes. I don't care. My helmet is too tight, the sensation of the rough fabric against my chin burns but I go on. The wind is too good not to.

I have one earbud in, the other in the case in my pocket. Take precaution, my mother said. Listen. If she only listened to me, maybe I'd be less careless with my life.

Ohio fall is coming, Ohio autumn that starts too hot and gets too cold much too fast. It's already freezing and it's barely seven. The lights are about to come on, I can see them preparing their warm light.

Warm light that's damaging our sky. I blink the spots they make in my vision away. 

Come on, keep going, I pedal to the beat of a song I barely know the words too. I don't need to know them, I just need to continue with the darkness folding around me.

The streetlights come on and the moon crests the trees and the water tower lights blink blink blink. There used to be a playground there and the church parking lot I'm riding in used to be a middle school. We've only got one middle school now, overcrowded and underfunded.

I think I first decided I hated myself at that school.

I bike home when my mom calls. She says its dark and I should be home by now. I don't really care, home is just across the street and down the long, long driveway.

Who needs to be home before dark when home is right there?

I go anyway. She might be mad. My legs hurt when I get off, park my bike in the garage. I don't know when I'll go out again, maybe tomorrow, maybe never. Maybe when autumn ends and I can slip on black ice.

Shake my head, that's silly, you don't wanna die. 

Maybe I don't, but life certainly doesn't want me to live either.