There is something he wants to show me before taking me home. Coldplay’s Viva la Vida is playing and I find myself quietly singing along. We drive slowly up the mountain, past houses enveloped in shadows, houses like small castles, daunting and intimidating and inspiring all at once.
I could have lost myself on these streets for hours, just looking. Even when hidden in dark shadows, beneath dim street lights, each house stands alone, unique. Changing with each season; the liveliness that budding trees and green leaves bring to flower beds in spring, the intense heat and humidity that hovers in the air in summer, the burnt oranges and red of falling leaves in autumn, and then the blanket of snow that covers them now, protecting them until the life of spring returns once more.
My mind having been filled and distracted by such thoughts, I hadn’t noticed the car turn off the road, but I feel the engine shut off. I look around, seeing the stairs and thick cement railing of the lookout ahead.
We step out of the car and walk towards the railing, gazing out over the expanse of lights below. We're alone up here for the time being. Everything is eerily quiet, distance sounds of cars on the highway but that’s all. The constant hum of city life seems to have been shut off, if only for a moment.
It’s surprisingly cold, I can feel the goosebumps growing on my arms. I can feel my body begin to shiver. I can see my breath fog before me, but I’m not quite ready to get back into the car.
I look over at him and grin, wondering if the same thoughts going through my mind are going through his. I lean against the cement railing, feel the cold go right through my jacket and gaze downward, taking it all in.
I want to ask him what he’s feeling, what he sees, but at the same time I don’t want to pollute the beauty of the silent city with conversation just yet.
As I look around I notice that the only thing missing tonight are the stars, hidden by the glowing lights of thousands of buildings and cars and street lamps. I cannot see the moon but some how I know there is a small and perfect crescent somewhere beyond the glow.
And then suddenly I feel small and alone....not in an insignificant sense, but in a moment of realization of just how much there is out there that I have yet to see or to experience. He reaches for my hand, squeezes it, almost reassuringly, reminding me that he’s there, that I’m not alone up here.
I look out over the lights at my city, and I know that right now, in this instant, at this point in my life, this is where I want to be. This moment, this place, this city.
And as I look out on the city lights, I allow my eyes to lose focus, causing them to blur, and suddenly I’m not afraid of what the future may bring. Whatever comes at me, wherever I may go, the person I will become, it will all work itself out. I know that I can control certain aspects of that, but I find myself excited by the aspects that are out of my control. I am excited by the mystery of it all.
I want to say something to him, put my feelings and thoughts into words, but the words don’t come and instead I smile up at him and give his hand a squeeze in return.
I may leave here at some point, travel elsewhere, work elsewhere, live elsewhere, but Montreal will always be my home. I may see other cities, older cities, larger cities, but Montreal will always hold a special place in my heart. She’s mine in a sense, and her beauty will stay with me always.
I want to laugh at that thought, the kind of uncontrollable laughter that takes over your whole body, but I’m shivering.
He looks over at me, notices the extent of my shivering, and suggests we get back in the car and head on our way. Part of me wants to say not yet, wants to stay in this moment with him a little while longer. I’m not quite ready to say good night, but the cold wins and together we walk back to the car.
“We just looked out, across the city from our little spot on the hilltop. It was so pretty from way up there. We talked about how the lights from the buildings and cars seemed like reflections of the stars that shone out so pretty and bright, that night.”
"It was daytime."
"The daytime of the night."
Flight of the Conchords
