Haze

I still remember waiting for the year 2000 to start.

The last week of 1999 had been quietly chaotic, almost like there was a palpable sense of static electricity in the air. I have never watched the ball drop in my life (nor have I ever cared to) but I distinctly remember seeing packets of glittery paper headbands with big '2000's written in shiny bubble letters on them and tons paper poppers lined up on the low tables in the dining room at my daycare center. Time had very little meaning to me at that point in my life; I was much more concerned with turning 5 than the end of a millennium, but I remember the strange buzz in the air, and I really liked that I was turning such an important age in what was (apparently) a very important year, evident in how much gaudier the crowns and decorations were and by how some of the older people were buying up all the soup and canned goods at Foodpride. I also clearly remember overhearing a couple at the bankteller's window talking about withdrawing all their money as I fished through the wicker baskets on Sandy B.'s desk for my favorite blue lollipops- they were saying something about the computers going back to zero and wanted to withdraw their savings in cash before everything crashed.

I didn't know why they were worried; growing up in a fairly traditional and conservative church, I had always imagined that the world would end in fire and all the money would burn up anyways.

I still remember holding my breath and waiting for the hands on the clock to line up on the twelve, like my dad told me. Once they did, we lit sparklers, ate cheese cubes and summer sausage, drank cold mugs of Mott's sparkling cider, and stayed up until I was almost dizzy. I remember being a little sad that mama didn't read to us that night when she tucked us in, then just laying there in the dark, staring at the slats of the bunk above me and listening to my brother's slow, even breaths, wondering when something would happen.

But nothing ever did.

Since then, I've learned the world can end many times over in a single lifetime, almost like a cosmic watch stopping, only to be re-wound again after a distinct, memorable pause, which would eventually fade into the fuzzy background of a new normality. Somehow life goes on, and no matter what happens, you still have to wake up every morning.

I stood on my balcony with a folded slip of paper between my fingers, watching the flames from my cigarette lighter sputter in the damp evening air before they finally caught and began devouring the the colorful paper, smoke mindling with the thick fog. I'd run out of notecards, and had instead started using the colorful set of butterfly-speckled stationary with gold edges that my grandmother had sent me. I dropped the paper into the ashtray on the table, watching the edges curl and blacken, feeling more like a sorceress in a tower burning curses than a petitioner offering prayers.

It was unnerving how quiet the streets were around holidays, and yet, the fog made every sound carry much farther than it should have. I liked how nights like this made everything seem simultaneously too close and too far away, much like specific, oddly distinct memories. The last time I had seen fog like this I had been a teenager, riding in my dad's truck on the way to Guernsey one early morning in March. We couldn't go over 20 mph, but every time we crested a hill, we could see the top of the cloud cover, draped over the landscape like an endless ocean of white, interspersed with little brown islands that were dotted by sagebrush and pine trees.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, the smell of smoke filling my nose as my prayers drifted skyward, off to wherever dreams are carried. A myriad of images flickered through my mind like a viewmaster reel: red taillights on snowy highways, thunderstorms in February, the smell of gingerbread baking, ashes from a mountain fire, coffee bubbling in a large, grungy pot, and the sound of an angel giggling as she pressed her face against the window in the piano room, fogging up the glass like her grandpa taught her before leaving behind smears with her fingertips.

So much could happen in just a few years.

The sound of a passing car pulled me out of my revelry and I watched as the flame winked out in the ashtray, leaving behind a small, smoldering pile of grey cinders.

I rarely cared about specific punctuations in time, but this year was different; the static hanging in the air still felt a little too much like a direct echo from the past, and while the future was heavy on my mind, I kept remembering that night from 25 years ago. I had a distinct feeling that the cogs were being set into motion again, and that this year, perhaps I should actually stay up till midnight. It was a strange feeling, sort of like having pop rocks and cola in your stomach at the same time, and it made my spine tingle in a way that wasn't entirely pleasant.

Something was happening.

There was a soft click behind me as the door opened and the giant appeared, steaming mug in hand and his blanket thrown over his head and shoulders like a cloak. It reminded me a little of Sheev Palpatine from Star Wars, if he'd been younger and better looking, with warm, nutmeg-colored freckles across his cheeks and a significantly better complexion. He glanced between me and the ashtray. "Hi."

"Hi."

"What are you doing out here?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

The giant grunted, then leaned against the railing, blowing softly on his tea, the steam from which mingled with the fog. For a while we just stood there, neither of us saying anything, then he looked at me thoughtfully, crystalline eyes glinting in the dim lamp light. "You know I don't believe in God, right?"

I dug my hands into the pockets of my cardigan, rocking back slightly on my heels. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because even if God isn't real, I still believe everything happens for a reason."

I gave him a crooked smile. "If God isn't real, how could it?"

We stood together in silence for a few more minutes, listening to cars pass on the street below. Eventually, the giant turned his head back to me smiled. "Want to watch Tiger King?"

I laughed. I didn't, and he knew it. I slipped my hand under his arm, letting him pull me in for a side hug as I grinned.

"Sure."