Sweet dream

Friendliness and kind words, that’s what the morning bought, sunshine and music.

My cell phone jingles with my son Andrew’s ring tone “what are you doing Momma? Can you meet me at 2060 University” he laughs, it’s an unexpected lunch with him. The day before the plan was for me to drive up to Mendocino to see him, but now he’s eating at an Indian restaurant, then he’s rushing off to L.A. I don’t know when I’ll see him again. This is Andrew sharing and open, this is the way I want it between us always. He pulls out a camera as small as a credit card, hands it to his friend Josh, “please take a photo of my Momma and I.” None of us are sure if it’s taking the photo or not, my new camera is sitting in the car, I feel too emotional to get it, I don’t want sad eyed photo’s of me with him.

Later walking up Bancroft and other side streets towards Shattuck my back is hurting from the computer in the back pack I’m dragging around with me. I walk into the park by the Peace Wall and stop to sit on an empty bench to open wifi. I’ve been wanting to enter something on the blog for a few days. I glanced over to see Peter, mad finger tapping Peter, on the opposite bench. Leaving my bench for his we talked like old friends. I asked “was there something bad with me the night we went for dinner with your friend Geoffrey?”, I ask as he had rushed off suddenly. “No” he insistently laughs, he was match making really. He feels sorry for Geoffrey, he’s alone and his life is fucked up. He was gifting us to one another. He thought I might be good for Geoffrey, and who knows I might have been. He eyes are laughing and fingers are on his three lettered keyboard. The skate boarders are whirling around us in the 70F Berkeley afternoon.

Back walking up the road up to the movie theater, a girl walks by, “nice bag” she murmurs and I thank her, half a block away she stops and calls out, “where is it from Mexico?” and I return the call, “not sure, I bought it at Farmers Market”, we smile and nod to each other, yes friendliness and kind words. This is what I’m sad to leave. This meeting of the ‘so few’ I know in such a largely populated little city. There are thousands of people and I still run into those I know. Just three days ago when parking at the Post Office Myla walked out of the Cheese Store, and I noticed her, when I could just have easily missed her. She eased into the passenger seat and managed the seat belt. I drove the car around University, back to Tenth street, passing the graffiti and the anti war sign on the house opposite the YMCA. There are Peace signs in windows and people sitting behind them talking in low voices, trying to figure out a way to stop the war.

In Iran they are mutilating and murdering woman for not wearing head scarves or other infractions of extremist secular teachings, and I am safe, threatened by no one. At times like this I want to remember, remember my luck, my fortune to be in the life I have.

As I walk out of the movie, Caramel, a Lebanese chick flick, Phil calls and we meet a few blocks away for Coffee. I have already canceled our evening of going to see some music. He is beautiful. Radiant. He looks his best, soft gray jacket, softer still shirt and the small two inch mother of Pearl guitar pendant that he bought when we were in Big Sur hangs where another man would wear a tie. He greets me with all the warmth and love that I have fallen in love with him for. He knows what I want and need. I hold back, I’m leaving within 36 hours and don’t want to confuse myself or him by surrendering into him. It’s another night where I weep, from the sadness of walking away from this blissful man, the one that lives just in the moments, that’s where he stands moment by moment. Something of my practical nature, of the past men, and past hurt, stops me from leaping into the unknown, red flags flying, I’m not sure whose they are but they are there and I know better than to ignore them. I have done that sometimes and it’s usually me and others who chide later, “didn’t you see the signs?”

I ask him to drop me at Marc’s. As we start to drive I can tell he’s heading for his house, and I am strong, “don’t do this, don’t Shanghi me” so he turns left, the car now heading away and we drive to Marc’s. Marc isn’t there as he said he would be. We sit for a few minutes there and not wanting to go back to Myla yet I ask him to drive me to Café Trieste. He asks me to write it down, to make it permanent. He pulls out the little metal silver note pad, like the one he gave me in red, “write it down” he repeats. I take the pen which slides out beside the pad, and start the pen moving slowly, cautious, something like “take her to where you found her at Café Trieste” seeps out into the paper he makes me sign it, it’s painful. We pull into the back parking lot behind Trieste, he’s kissing me with love kisses, the ones that go deep into my being. He tells me he loves me, and I believe he does. We talk trying to make sense of three months, there is no sense between us. We accuse each other of not trying one way or the other, I think there’s truth in both our accusations. We talk of trying at some other point, some other time, to get together and I feel the pull of him, the pull of who I want us to be. Pulling the door handle, groping in the dark for handles and words and lost understandings, I walk out of the alley, past the tree we first kissed under.

My cell phone in hand I call Marc who has just walked into his house. I walk over the few blocks and fumble through the DVD’s, I just want to watch a movie, escape these moments, Tombstone is a favorite of Marc’s and I’ve never seen it. Sipping wine in big easy chairs we watch Val Kilmer and his cronies, it’s the opposite of a chick flick, it’s the hardness men want and tonight it will do for me. It’s late and I ask him if he will drive me back to Myla’s. Marc slips some sweats over his silk p.j. pants and drives me back, zip, zip in his little red car, like a race car driver, that’s what it feels like, zip zip that’s been my day and Myla’s happy to see me, she sits on the couch with me while I lay under my temporary covers sharing some of the day.

One more night and it’ll be like a dream, a sweet dream.