Two mornings ago, I woke up to hear some commotion out on the street below. Derry Street normally calms down most nights, although I do wake up hearing a fight, a drunken brawl, or a couple having an "emotionally charged" argument from time to time. Good or bad, it doesn't surprise me anymore. I don't expect to wake up to positive sounds and words below, usually. This commotion, though, was different. All I heard was, "Hey!.....Hey!" like the male speaking was trying to get someone else's attention. He got mine. And then I heard this: "I love you, bro."
If seeing is to double-take as hearing is to double-hear, then I double-heard. I sat up, attentive, for about 3.4 seconds before I realized that one bro telling another bro that he loved him was not worth getting out of bed in the wee hours of the morning to investigate. I was just surprised. And, quite frankly, delighted. I use "I love you's" quite liberally in my world, before ending phonecalls, before finishing letters, after a quick hug, in almost every prayer. But to overhear these familiar words before dawn from someone walking on a street in a rougher neighborhood where the darkness sometimes feels stronger than the light, despite the hour of the day or night, I felt like celebrating immediately.
I laid back down and smiled myself back into sleepy stupor, not wanting to forget to give thanks. There is love yet. At 4 am in Allison Hill, there is love yet.
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