There are bats under the bridge and we went to see them. They are rumored to come out at dusk. I did not want to see them, but it was something to do at dusk and we went. There were other people there, lounging in the grass like picnickers, facing the bridge. We thought we heard high-pitched echoes and maybe saw some shadows, but mostly just wished we had brought beer.

I don’t like beer that much but she does and I was visiting her in a different state where there are bats under a bridge, and beer tasted good. I liked the cinnamon rolls she eats most mornings and the street where she lives and the places she goes and that all the girls wear boots and jeans like me and the men who like girls like them absolutely and I am seeking absolutes where I live, even though there are not very many and are temporary anyways.

She has a Southern accent and I wish I had one, too, or maybe just any accent at all, but we moved too much when I was little for one to have stuck. I wonder if living in this big state would make my consonants softer and my vowels longer and if life would come with fewer qualifications and be less equivocal. If I would sit on the grass near a bridge where bats live, and not be afraid they would come out and brush against us with leathered wings. Where someone would offer us beers and we would drink them in the warm twilight, turning into night, like you could count on it every single time.





Photo Source: Global Nerdy