It starts when the rain does. I am sitting on the roof, cigarette in hand, when I get the call. Meet us at the aviary, we’ll decide more from there, it’s 5:23PM. Most of the day had been spent milling about, chain smoking, and lying on the edge of the roof. I had been waiting for this.

I climb slowly down the ladder, cigarette clamped between my lips. I focus on each step. Bare feet wrap around the round, metal bars. My toes are caked with soot and dirt; they speak novels of where I had been in the past few days, revealing to anyone that would look close enough that I had better things to do than have any regard for myself. No one ever notices the important things. Across the grass I wander dreamily into the empty house, trailing dirt behind with each step. I take a deep drag from my cigarette and flick it into the yard, the smoke rises from the grass like a prayer for the wind.

Up the stairs, behind a locked door, I strip down to nothing. Glancing at my true form in the mirror, I am perplexed by the person in front of me. Ribs bulge outward where they had not previously and hipbones jut out at new angles. I run a hand through my thin hair, smoothing it back into place. Nothing is the same.

Outside, the rain falls more heavily. It pounds against windows, begging to tear apart the glass. From the labyrinth that is my floor, I rescue enough clothes to cover my body and shield me from the rain. A grey sweatshirt and tattered jeans suffice. I grab my bag, stuff money into it for good measure, and make my exodus.

I jingle the keys in my hands, the car is cold. Closing my eyes, I slip in the key and exhale. Okay. With the roar of a lion the car jolts into motion. As if the car is leading itself, I seamlessly soar down the road. Through every turn, curve, twist, I fly without thinking. The radio entertains itself on the dash.

A red light interrupts my flight. I look out of the window. The sun is beginning to set. A putrid grey pink sheet of sky covers the sun. The asphalt looks like oil; slick, wet, alive.

It flicks to green and the car once again carries itself to where it knows I need to go, weaving though concrete and paint. Finally, the sign appears, “The Aviary,” in smaller script below “Forest Preserve.” The gravel crunches loudly beneath the turning tires as I pull myself into the parking lot in front of the weather worn pavilion.

There they are.

There they all are; smiles beaming, laughter echoing, and smoke circling like a halo around them. I have arrived. The girl from the center of the group is the first to come over to me, her nose is red from the cold; she sniffles as she coos me a cheery hello, giving me a hug as one would give to an old friend. You’re just in time.

We trample through the path, mud beginning to form but not making it a burdensome trip just yet. The air smells of decay. Leaves crumble beneath our steps and the silence of the forest is interrupted only by our sloppy tongues. The rain still beats down but we just throw our heads back, open our mouths, taste the rain, and laugh. Somehow they find the spot. Maybe they’ve been here a thousand times. Maybe it calls to them when they need it to. Maybe they just knew. Maybe it could be as simple as that.

Looking up into the branches, a whisper finds its delicate way into my ear. Here it is. They tell me to climb. The tree has broken logs shakily nailed into its side. The branches are laden with larger pieces of wood secured by nails and rope, forming a circle of decaying boards. Up we go. My hands grip the wood and I place my feet with calculated steps. I reach the circle. I don’t trust the wood. There are older notches signifying others’ usage of this haven. We’re not the first to be here.

We sit and everything falls quiet. The rain continues to descend, slapping the leaves on its way down, reaching every surface as it finds solidity to rest upon. As we all fall into place, I look around. We shuffle into our niche; boards bending beneath our weight, threating to snap and send us all hurtling into darkness. I dare you to.

With clothes slightly damp we zip zippers and pull hoods around our heads. Ready? One of the girls takes it out of her jacket. With her orange lighter she lights the end of it. Inhale, breathe it in. Pass. Around and around it goes, each of us sucking in a new sort of life. My turn now. I let the smoke take residence in my lungs, allow it to swirl around my spine and do a lovely trot with my heart. I open my mouth and my eyes, the smoke creeps out of my body slowly licking at my eyelashes, searching for the stars. It tastes of the earth, of the wind, of the forest.

I pass it along, my gaze wanders upward. I put my hands in my lap and slowly the boards beneath me lose their danger. The clouds have cleared but the rain carries on. It seems as though the stars are falling. Maybe the world is ending or beginning or maybe something in between. The cold seeps in and I drop my gaze back to the circle.

Stephen sits across from me. I hadn’t noticed before. A smile creeps onto my face as the back of my skull begins to tingle. Everyone is talking, saying really important things; but not Stephen. I see his eyes. That’s all I see. We are tethered by only that. We share eye contact as tangible as a hand laid upon mine. Everything around falls silent, a slight ringing in my ears is all that I can hear. For those few seconds that his eyes meet mine, I feel aflame, as if something were vibrating violently within my chest threatening to burst. And then it is too much. My eyes retreat and find refuge within the leaves, shielding the burning of my cheeks.

The world is frozen. We are trapped comfortably within the amber. As we move within it, the ticks of the clock stop. Here, in the Aviary, there is no such thing as time. We are we and this is the world. The rain is ending but the night has just begun.