on a thursday

To his credit, he didn't even hesitate in response to my idea. "I know a few places that are great for that," he said. "Rocky can get us there, easily." It sounded perfect to me, so a little after 1 am, he arrived at my door with a spare helmet and soon we were speeding down empty roads to the bridge. The only place still open at that hour was the strip club, illuminating the filth and back alleys of Long Island City, red lights on steal beams, the awning lit like a hotel. We parked on a side street nearby and went the rest of the way on foot: up the stairs, halfway across the bridge, to the spot where the moon challenged the largest billboard, stuck between both islands. The bridge supports crisscrossed forever above us, the towers on either side of the water distant and dark.

I climbed over the railing and threaded my fingers through the fence. "You ready?"
"I don't have anything to scream about," he said, suddenly shy.
"Just scream for fun. Ready? On the count of three. One-two-THREE!" We opened our mouths and screamed. Loud. The cars rushed past us. Our voices were lost in their onslaught. We were anonymous.

It wasn't enough. "Let's do it again!" I said right away. "One-TWO-THREE" We screamed again. And then again.
"Do you feel any better?" he asked, catching his breath.
I thought about it. "No."
So we kept screaming. I opened my mouth wide and stared at the inky water below and thought about why I was there and screamed and screamed again. Then we started shouting out names.
"FRED!!! YOUR SOUP IS READY!!!"
"ANNA BANANA!"
"ALICE! WHERE ARE YOU??!!!!"
"MRS. POTTS!!!!!!!"
"Who is Mrs. Potts?" he asked, turning to look at me.
"She's the tea kettle in Beauty and the Beast." I started laughing.
"FRANK!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!!!!! NEW YORK IS THAT WAY!!!!!"

My hands were black from the soot on the fence and I had some of it on my face. "Let's do it again. Ready?" We screamed and screamed. We screamed towards Manhattan, we screamed to Brooklyn. We screamed at poor Roosevelt Island that never did anything to us. We screamed until we ran out of air and our throats were hoarse. The traffic passed behind us, passive, swallowing our sounds. We were colossal and invisible.

On the way back to the bike, both of us filthy and talking louder than normal, he asked me again. "So do you feel better?"
"We should do this all the time," I said.

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