vilnuis

mykolas woke me up then at 7:15; i came to the door half-awake and mute and he told me we were going out. kind of a no argument voice. i got dressed. "what are we doing, mykolas?" i asked, and we tumbled together down the echoing stairs, three flights, four. "you'll see," he said in his secret voice, with the clatter of our shoes and the pale light like tulle in the four-pane windows like a quiet bell.

we left my building by the back door; the heavy metal clang back alley grime. it is still cold here this time of year, so i had my burgundy coat and the air held onto my breath in smoky clouds. i pulled the black-cloud knit of my scarf over my mouth to hold the warm inside me. "what are we doing, mykolas?" i said, and he said come, and i followed him out onto our side street, and then onto the main street.

there was a peaceable ominousness hanging in the air, and as we stepped out from my side street i realized that it was silence. the wind tumbled bits of littered paper across the empty street. pigeons bobbed unhurriedly on the ground. they winked little worried eyes up at mykolas and i as we crossed the street. i turned my own worried eyes up to mykolas and he nodded and so that was why he had gotten me up. i looked up and down the street, the creaturely air and my fingers laced up in mykolas's and forlornly i let my scarf fall open and the wind run up against my chin.