I have used this very specific lantern as an image to go along with pieces of my music for years now. It’s a symbol of one of the brightest moments in my life. It’s a reminder of the group of friends that I had and what joy they brought as we shared time and porches and life with one another. It was beautiful, and so when I see pictures of it or put it into art, it takes me back to that time.
I’ve found myself living in the social-hub house of my friend groups on multiple occasions to where we would have people showing up on any given night and staying until the wee morning hours even though most of us were working steady jobs and had to be at work early.
At one point there were 7 of us living in different spots along the same street and there was always some combination hanging out. Most times we wouldn’t plan it, someone would just show up and we’d roll with it.
The beauty of being young, living in the moment, and having that sort of energy.
Eventually though, it did become a slight issue when we actually needed to get things done, or rest, or whatever.
I don’t remember who found the first lantern – I think Lee or Nathan – but it was perfect. We rigged it up on the front porch and instituted the rule that if the lantern was lit, we were up for hanging out but if it was off – we either weren’t home or didn’t feel like getting together. It was on more nights than it wasn’t and our house continued to draw in a wild and wonderfully eclectic group of people. I made so many friends and became closer with that group of people than any other I’ve been a part of since. It was special.
The porch was the center of all of that, with that lovely lantern lighting our lives. So many conversations that I’m still having. Doors being opened. Things that make more sense now with lived experience than they ever could have nearly 20 years ago when we started having them.
When I moved to Washington, the lantern became like a beacon in a dream. I’d see it in the background of photos and be reminded of where I came from and the friends I had on another timeline.
Years later, when I left Washington, I drove across the country to stay with one of my best friends and old roommate who was living in Iowa at the time. I’d just driven a week through a heavy winter storm and he and his partner were heading back to Alabama for Thanksgiving.
I wasn’t ready or willing or able to come back yet. So I stayed in their old farm house, at least a mile away from the closest neighbor, by myself for a week.
One of those days I decided to walk about the property and in the corner of one of the work stables, I saw the old red lantern sitting there.
It was a strange feeling of nostalgia, sadness, and realization – as many things end up being. It was like seeing an old friend, and being relieved to see that they’re still around, but sad to see they are not lit up and joyous like they once were. At that time, I felt much in common with the lantern. We’d both been a part of brighter nights and days when we looked forward to being illuminated.
It was a very physical reminder that I literally could not go back to the porches of my past. They weren’t there anymore. Someone said, “you can’t go home again” and it’s the truth. The home you leave is never the one you make your way back to. There will always be something that has changed. Sometimes it’s you.
I did come back to Alabama and it was true, those porches didn’t exist anymore. Many of the people I shared them with had scattered to other states, similar to myself. Moving on to the rest of their lives, hopefully lighting up new porches in their neck of the woods, wherever they are.
Now when I draw or share a picture of the red lantern, the people that were there see it and they know what it is. Maybe for a quick second they get to remember and feel what it was like to be sitting there, probably chain smoking while talking about something bigger than ourselves, considering what the future holds.
ALEX WRIGHT CONTAINS MULTITUDES 