…Here is the continuation of the episode that happened just nearby my office (and your clubhouse) in Oceanside. The story began here: http://www.awordwithyoupress.com/2010/10/01/and-you-were-foolish-enough-to-believe-it-was-an-idol-threat/
and continues here…
…I love this neighborhood. Decay is only the compost for something not yet blossomed, something with seeds still beneath the surface, and I can feel the earth tremble here, as seeds begin to bench press the pavement. Our building was all stubble and bad breath when we came in just four months ago. It’s shaved and showered now, and it seems to have caused the whole street to start dressing up for Prom Night. It is here that Suzanne shows you where to look amid the garbage and the flowers for signs of life, for beauty. In addition to our place, there is a recording studio not only in our complex, but diagonally across the street, in the old DMV building where I got my first driver’s license. Thomas, the musician who leases the place now, got hit by a train trying to rescue his 14 year old dog a month ago on the very evening we held an open mic night. He has made his parlor like a Fifty’s diner, complete with a juke box that plays oldies. Warehouses along the street, interspersed with trailer parks and old clapboard houses, and seven-hundred thousand dollar condos, and stores long vacant now pleasantly invaded by other artists. I am in heaven.
But you wanna know more about the girl, I imagine.
The girl is wearing denim cut-offs, a cream-colored jacket, her brown hair in a bun. She has clear white skin, with only the slightest hint of makeup around her eyes. She engages easily in small talk. I like that about people, when they can easily engage in conversation with a stranger.
Her jacket is unzipped just enough to create speculation. She smiles as easily as she speaks, and offers her hand when she offers her name. Street lights glow like the full moon. I take her hand but I don’t hear her name as I mumble my own. Is this happening?
I tell her this is my office behind me, and I have to get back to work. She looks twice at the office, twice at me, and once over each shoulder when she says, “Are you bored?”
“Yes, but I’ll pass.” I say that quickly rather than resolutely. She smiles and shrugs a shoulder. “You be careful, out there,” I tell her. “I will be,” she says. She pets Cody again before turning and crossing the street.
I take Cody inside, and man the computer, as planned. I can’t concentrate. I go through the double doors that lead to the porch with a view of the street, wondering if the woman has disappeared. She has crossed the street, and halfway down the block, she is talking to two men, each in dark blue and shinning flashlights on her face.
…to be continued