Still early. Still early enough to see the streaks of light through that blue grey sky and still light enough to recognize the passage of time. Still.
I had gotten out of work to make my face look younger. To make me look less weary and less withered. Those dark circles under my eyes have grown much darker lately.
If Thelonious had never Monked Alone then maybe I would have been without the inner peace that came as I drove along the city streets that brought me here and now.
I listened deeply while the keys spoke to me—one way tickets to parts unknown, wondering if the songs might stop. I know these streets though. These streets are numbered. 3 to 4. 18 to 22. Montlake Boulevards and Campus Parkways. 15th Street Northeasts and University Avenues.
The notes hopped and skipped and hopped and skipped. I found myself gliding on 50th Street. Wallingfords. Greenlakes. Bordering the 11s to the 13s. More numbers. Driving past the streets I turned on, day in and day out, parked my car and stayed there for a while.
My eyes checked the stereo reading. The jazz was almost over.
I went on a beat I had on a whim, hungry for more and more to revisit. Fremont Aves. Phinney Aves. Greenwood Aves. This was 7. Or 6. This was 7 or 6 all the way to 13 or 14 or 15. It was foggy around there. But as I continued the ascent from 15 to 18, I watched as the autumn leaves continued to fall and blow and run away from their homes. They danced a ballet that I’ll just have to remember.
One day I’ll be able to describe this moment better. Because these leaves weren’t yellow and those reds weren’t red and those greens weren’t green any longer. It was the way they huddled together, most of them along the side of the roads. I was taken by the others—those who had just fallen and were in the middle of these streets. In the middle of falling and in the middle of going, but lost in the joy of the beginning of their movements. They were dancing. Even inside the car, even with Monk playing, even with the record almost over I could hear them whooshing and I could hear them dancing.
The end always ends at the beginning. These were the ends of the numbered streets. This was Greenwood again. This was Phinney again.
Had time stopped at the traffic lights? What time was it now? Was this the 5 to 10? These cars going left and going right. These leaves circling behind them like tumbleweeds. This green light to take me down and down.
Down and down. As the hills started rolling. Descending to a roundabout and drifting towards the west. One last turn. Those streaks of light more hidden now. Another hill. Let me take this in. Let me take this in. Let me take this in.
Slowly moving the tires. Less leaves on the trees.
Here again. Home.
As the CD changed.