Lyrics
SEEMINGLY ANOTHER NIGHT It was half an hour to midnight when Ben called. Finals were over. Most of the guys had gone home for winter break, leaving the fraternity house quiet except for the television and wind pressing against the windows. “Party’s winding down,” Ben said over the phone. “Daniel wants out. Chris found us a ride.” “You sure the driver’s sober?” “He says he is.” “If anything feels off, call me. I’ll leave the porch light on.” “And the door unlocked. Remember last time?” “Unfortunately, yes.” He laughed and hung up. Ben and I were twenty-two. We’d lived together three years. I knew how his nights usually ended: he’d come home hungry, complain about the cold, and eat whatever I’d left in the kitchen. I put a pizza in the oven and returned to my movie. I meant to get the porch light when the timer went off. Just another night. The phone rang before the pizza was done. “We hit a pole,” Ben said. I sat upright. Sirens sounded behind his voice. “What? Are you hurt?” “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” “Ben.” “They’re helping the driver. There’s a bus here. I’ll take that.” “Wait. What bus?” The call dropped. When I called back, it went straight to voicemail. Typical Ben. He’d sounded all right. He was probably already arguing about whose idea the ride had been. By the time I remembered the pizza, its edges were black. I ate the middle, washed a plate, and wondered whether I could claim the good upstairs room next semester. That was what I was worried about. When Ben called again, static crackled through the speaker. “I’ve been calling for hours.” “It’s been forty minutes. Where are you?” “I don’t know. The stops keep—” His voice broke apart. The connection died. Something scraped outside near the back steps. I listened until it stopped, decided it was a raccoon, and returned to the couch. The phone rang again. “Alex?” Ben sounded frightened. “Say something. Please.” “I’m here. Did you find your stop?” “I’ve been on this bus for days.” “Ben, come on.” “Maybe longer. We pass the same places. Nobody gets off.” I muted the television. “You fell asleep. You missed your stop.” “No. The passengers don’t move. I don’t think they blink.” I waited for him to laugh. “And something outside is keeping up with us.” Beneath the static, I heard the low, steady labor of an engine. “Listen to me,” I said. “Look out the window. Tell me what you see.” For several seconds, there was only the engine. “A street sign. Oak Street!” “That’s near campus. You’re close.” “Don’t hang up.” “I won’t.” “Just… talk to me.” I looked around the empty room, searching for something ordinary. “The sink still leaks. Someone put a sock in the microwave.” He didn’t answer, but I could hear him breathing. “And I’m taking the upstairs room next semester.” “Over my objections.” His answer came so quickly that I smiled. “Then hurry back and stop me.” He laughed—a brief, familiar laugh. The static eased. “The bridge!” he said. “We’re crossing the bridge!” “Three stops. You’re almost home.” “I’m glad you picked up.” “You’d do the same.” The engine grew louder. “Our street! Alex, I see our street!” The call ended. A gust rattled the window. I pulled the curtain aside. Snow covered the parked cars. Orange streetlights shone on the empty road. No bus. My phone rang. “Where’s the house?” Ben asked. “Across from the corner shop.” “There’s nothing here.” “You know where we live.” “Everything’s dark.” Fear gave way to irritation, or perhaps irritation was simply easier. “Hang on.” I crossed the room and switched on the porch light. “There!” Ben shouted through the phone. “I saw it. Leave it on!” “It’s on. I’m right here.” “Okay. I can see it now. I’m coming.” Through the glass beside the door, I saw headlights turn the corner. “Is someone giving you a ride?” His voice sounded close and clear in my ear. “Thanks for helping me find the way.” The car stopped outside. It wasn’t a bus. It was a police car. Two officers stepped out. Their footsteps crunched through the snow as they climbed the porch steps. One took off his cap. I still held the phone against my ear when they knocked. The officer asked whether I was Alex. I said yes. He told me there had been an accident. I looked past him at the patrol car, waiting for Ben to get out. The officer said Ben had died at the scene. But his voice was still in my ear. “I found the light.” I pressed the phone against my cheek. “I’m here,” I whispered. “I know,” Ben said peacefully. “Thank you.” The call ended. I held the phone to my ear long after the line went dead. The porch light stayed on until morning.