Living Past Curfew

Living Past Curfew

The loud jazz music echoed from the bustling bars on 14th Street while the soft glow of the path lamps lit my way. It was late December, and Christmas had come and gone. New Years was just around the corner, and I was most likely the only person in Aurum that wasn’t excited. There was a light snow falling from the jet black sky above. My mother had once told me that my hair was as black as the sky on a cold December night, and, looking up now, I could see that she was right. That night, fifteen years ago, I decided to never again cut my hair. That was also the last night that I got to see my mother. Now, at age twenty seven, my hair was well past my shoulders and hitting my lower back. Most of the time it was pulled into a ponytail so it didn’t bug me, although it did bug the girls. Being a guy and all, I’m not always treated the best for having extremely long hair.

I heard pounding feet behind me and the heavy breathing of the overweight, overworked, and under-appreciated man that I called my best friend, Roger. “Leo, where the hell have you been,” he demanded, clutching his hand to his heart, gasping for air and stepping into place beside me.

“I’ve been around Roger. In fact, I’ve been thinking,” I replied, not admitting to him that I didn’t really like the bar scene tonight. Roger ran his hand over his slightly balding scalp. At forty-eight, he wasn’t doing so well. “You know what you need Roger? A hat,” I said to him, removing my old, weather worn baseball cap and placing it on his head. “There,” I said admiring my work. “Now, when you try to pick up the ladies, they won’t turn away in disgust at your balding head.” I chuckled to myself but Roger looked hurt. Sighing, I pulled the hat off of his head and stuck it back on mine. “Chill out man, I was just joking.”

He sighed. “Maybe you were right. About what you said earlier, I mean. Maybe I’m just too fat and I can’t pick up any ladies” I rolled my eyes, but nodded in approval. “I had better luck with the guys anyway,” he said with a frown. I laughed; the echo a sound ringing through the quiet streets. I looked at my watch, eleven-thirty, almost curfew.

“There was a gay bar back there if you wanted to stop and check it out.” I laughed at my own joke, but Roger looked down. “I was kidding again, Roger,” I said, turning the corner onto Nivenia Avenue.

“Oh, I know,” Roger responded. “I know.” He looked down at his watch, his wrist fat spilling around the watch band that was pulled far too tight. “Well, it’s almost curfew. I better run. Catch up with you later?” he asked me. I nodded, trying to surpress my smile. I don't think I've ever seen Roger actually 'run', except for just a few minutes ago, and even that was limited to a fast walk.

“Sure thing,” I said, nodding good night to him. He turned on the next street, 15th street, and I stood there for awhile, watching him walk away. I felt sorry for the poor guy, but what was I to do? I was a man of one night stands and quick pick me ups at a bar. What advice could I give a middle-aged, balding, fat man about ladies? Of all people, Roger was my only friend. I sighed. I was always getting the bum deal. Sure, Roger benefited, but me? Yeah right.

I watched Roger walk up the stairs to his apartment. He turned, and I waved, but he didn’t seem to see me, and the next minute he walked into his home. I quickly turned on my heel and began walking towards my street. Walking past the Corner Street Park, I heard the clock. The loud chimes gonging as if their life depended on it. Five minutes till lights out. “Shit,” I muttered, beginning to run. The clock rang again, signaling three minutes until curfew. As I ran, the lights began to flicker and go out behind me. ‘What in the world,’ I thought, pushing myself to run faster.

I had never been out past curfew, and this was the first time that I realized how serious the consequences could be. The clock chimes rang again. One minute. No, no, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening to me. I still had half a mile to go. I wasn’t going to make it in time, but I ran faster. My feet hit the pavement with a slap that rang through the cold, night air. My legs pumped on and the fear of getting arrested pushed me forward.