The sun has now risen above the city of Lowell and Lowellita is ready to call it a night. The day where she realized the writing was on the wall is coming to a close and a new adventure has just seen its first dawn.

It is peculiar how people always say that they lost a day, but they never claim to have lost a night. Days can get wasted. However, the night somehow escapes this fate that falls to the feet of its predecessor and other inanimate objects — like socks.

It is ironic that the moon cannot harm you or cause your death, like its burning star of a sister, the sun. But still, many are fearful of the night.

To me I could go without both — days and socks that is. Maybe it’s the same people who would rather go barefoot that also wallow in the moonlight.

I left my tarnished diner companion on the Cox Bridge with promises to meet again when we were less jaded by the light of the morning. The June bugs had already begun their symphony that initiates every humid late summer day in Lowell. It was a sure thing that the discordant zing of the insects and the humming of window units would play as constant background music for the next 12 hours. Sleeping through this noise would be like falling asleep at Mass. Though it would be a sin, I would not regret it later.

I walked out of the heart of downtown eluding it just as its pulse began to weaken and almost fade. I traveled through the Highlands on streets that are the veins of my existence. An area of the city where supper-time chatter bounces off the lofty ceilings of Victorian-era homes and makes a subdued hum through the close-knit neighborhood. The houses are as tight as the kids that grew up playing pick-up kickball on the side streets. Here the pavement is cracked and buckled, like the roots of towering oak trees protruding from deep beneath the tar.

In Lowell, you stay loyal to the neighborhood where you were raised. Highland kids stick together and still do, as do the ones bred in Belvidere, Pawtucketville, the Acre and Centralville.

When I was much younger, my mother used to bring us to basketball and softball games in other parts of the city. It was usually around dusk after the final score was recorded and porch lights were just being turned on. While driving home, I would stare out looking into the illuminated windows of homes that we passed. The guy reading in the recliner by himself, the woman on the phone petting her cat at the kitchen table or the two boys picking off the top of their pencil erasers while doing their homework.

After I got home, cleaned up and got in bed, I would make up stories about the people I just saw. This would help me fall asleep faster and usually dream easier.
When I finally hit my mattress this morning, I will be thinking about my Club Diner companion.

Have things changed for Lowellita? Or is she still the same girl from the Highlands with big ideas in a small city? E-mail lowellita@lowellsun.com.