Getting Lost

Adrian Ridley

photo credit: Adrian Ridley

I shut the door and lock it. Sorted by moods, bands, or random songs thrown together, there is no semblance of a real theme to my playlists. I want to move and be out, so I randomly select one and press play.

As I start my walk, I step on the shattered fragments of the neglected concrete, the sound of stone grinding against stone. The music is too quiet.

I kick the volume up a few notches.

I turn the corner and walk down the street, the sun peaking over the rooftops and streaming through the tree branches. I aim for the shade.

A car passes by, the low thrum of its engine breaks through the music and disrupts my reverie again. Once more, I pick up the volume.

As I walk further, I notice the crows perched on the telephone poles and lines, cocking their heads to stare at each other. I pass their resting place and they caw loudly in irritation. Annoyed, I press on the volume button a few more times.

Now the music is blaring.

For a moment, the music is at the forefront of my mind, disrupting its point. I do not want to listen. What I want is white noise to drown out all the other static, so that I can sink into myself and drift aimlessly.

What I get instead is some cheap line about bills and thrills, probably put into one of my playlists when I was in a lighter mood. Slowly, the song fades too, and my walk can begin in earnest.

I take random turns in an attempt to get lost, lost in my own head.

Adrian Ridley is an undergraduate student addending Loyola University New Orleans studying writing and psychology.