We woke up that morning, not knowing what to do. What else was there but to hold one another and pretend the hours were not counting down? We had wrested one week from the inevitable; we knew we would not steal another hour more. So we sought some activity to fasten a last memory to, to push the terminus past one last thing:
"Time for you and time for me,Sitting there in the tea house, near the corner of 20th and Broadway, we talked of many things; we talked of nothing at all. I asked what time it was. We ordered another pot of tea, a Sunrise in Tibet. She clutched me tightly as we left, every ending now a resounding footfall of an approaching colossus.
"And would it have been worth it, after all,The Six came too fast. Then we were there, in front of the bus, embracing, then kissing -- a deep kiss, onlookers be damned. As I moved to board I felt our fingers slip apart, and then I was the one clutching at the air, holding on to the absence of _____. I sat down in the front seat, hoping she would turn around. I watched as she crossed the street, craning my neck until the sea of taxis made it impossible, then turned to the tinted windows, hoping no one would notice. On the ride to the airport, I folded, bent and twist the ticket stub in my hand, as if to imbue that piece of epherma with the essence of forever.
"Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon"I don't know how long I'll live, but I know my days with her are far too short. I don't doubt there will be rainy Sunday afternoons squandered away, but I have no doubt who I want to squander them with.
An unseasonably cool wind blows intermittently through the open window. C.'s apartment looks out on a busy street and with rush hour ending, the traffic moves a little faster and the sound of car horns punctuates rather than dominates as it did an hour ago. After only five days, the room looks very much lived in: The clothes hung on the rack, suitcases now tucked away; a lone picture hangs on the wall and various knick knacks are scattered about. After a year and several months, my house does not bear the same degree of occupancy.
I look out the window at the passersby, their voices carrying up to this second floor apartment. I think about the lounge downstairs preparing for the evening crowds and of the salon adjacent where C. had her hair cut today. I think of the fruit cart three blocks up where we bought fresh fruit the other day and the restaurant around the corner where I had my first cup of cherry soup. The strangely perfect weather makes it hard to miss the Bay Area, but I do still. I wonder how my roses and gladiolus are holding up. I miss my kitchen, palatial in comparison to the one here. The temperate sunny day makes me yearn for my convertible, though I have no desire to drive here.
I remember the first time I went to Seattle. I went for a job interview and it was my first trip alone. It was a rainy weekend, but it was still one of the best that I've ever had. I expensed my first meal, drank wine alone for the first time. I rented a car and met up with my brother. We went to the Metropolitan Bar and Grill and for the first time in my life I left like I was an adult. I've never really considered myself an East Bay-er. And I've never lived in San Francisco. Growing up I never visited LA much and though TO is my home town, it certainly isn't home. For a moment though, I feel like a denizen. I feel like a live somewhere. That I belong to a city. I know it's not my home and I don't imagine it ever will be. But I kinda like this window and having a changing view.
For the last three days we've pretty much let the winds of fate take us where they willed. Maybe it was the fact that we landed thirty minutes early, maybe not, but C. and I have had incredible luck setting up things here. The day after we landed both the bed and the internet were in place and we managed to have enough time left over in the day to purchase a desk and attend the one planned event that we had for the week. Wicked, by the way, was excellent. I only wish I had caught it in SF instead of having waited to come out here to see it. On Friday the rest of her boxes came and we managed to assemble the desk and unpack all of the boxes before meeting up with L. and P. at a great BBQ joint nearby. We ended the night by checking out the bar right below C.'s apartment. Saturday we ranged, with A., K. and E., from the cloisters in northern Manhattan to the Chelsea street market to a local piano bar/cafe in the Village and back again to our home base in Murray Hill.
And this is what makes Manhattan exciting to me: you don't plan for it to happen. In all my times here in the City, I don't think I've made a single reservation, planned a single activity more than a few hours in advance. It's certainly not for lack of crowding, though I haven't been that unfortunate, I'm not naive enough to believe that you can walk in anywhere, anytime of the day or week. But if you can't get in where you going, all you have to do is turn around and you have options. Here in NYC, you've got choices.
A brief pen then: (Tomorrow there will be no time for such diversions -- final farewells and a smattering of birthday felicitations, a flurry of packing to conclude.) I can not pretend to know what it is like. As much as I have wished for others that broadness of spirit that comes with starting anew, I have never had that courage. I balked at the one and only opportunity I have had to pot my roots and try a different soil, breathe some other air, drink a foreign rain and sun. Perhaps that is why I feel immeasurable pride, which masks my sadness and fear. For though I know that in the coming weeks there will be tearful airport scenes, I am awed and rapt with the adventure she has embarked on.
"you've got a journey to make-- Vienna Teng, Harbor
Here, in the interminable silences, is the fullness of my life. I apologize for not recording here the mundane details, it might suffice to say that it's the simple things in life. Then again, maybe it's not. For posterity, I'll do the sixty second version of the past week. Ate dinner at Rubicon on Thursday, went to a surprise party for D. on Friday, helped my brother move on Saturday, did the domestic thing on Sunday, took a day off on Monday and drove C. up to Sonoma -- spent $200 on wine, tried to cook a fancy dinner on Tuesday, stood in line to renew my license this morning, and had to give up because work beckoned.
Here and there the signs that C. is leaving have become brighter, more evident. Like a car working it's way down the Las Vegas Boulevard, a neon sun shines down on me. They're telling me that a change is coming. Here and there, the boxes begin to stack in the living room. More last minute plans to get one last lunch or dinner with good friends. Here and there, the sadness of the thing creeps in.
Sadness is one way to deal. Hope is another. Change brings adversity, just as it brings opportunity. Dear reader, you may find a week or two more of these long gaps, so look down from this precipice, there's a river running deep there. Look across to the other side, there's a new world awaiting. There's a fortnight left before I am bi-coastal. I may be staying here, but my heart is moving to New York.
Will Power: I need to unload. My mind feels like a crowded hallway. All these thoughts need to get out, now. Yesterday I sat in the Board Room watching the Commissioners take a vote to cut jobs. I sat there, powerless. Nothing really makes sense here in Poke-land. There's a hidden game that I know nothing about. The reporter of Indian descent rose to dissent four times and that was the only sense I heard. What was behind the closed doors and closed minds that offered no response? Angry, I grasp on to the basest foulest explanations, accusations. I see the color draining out of the room. Black takes control of the board. I feel caught in a trap, a pawn pinned by a queen. The worst? I don't know if we escaped with a pyrrhic victory or a cancerous defeat. Either way I can't let myself fall. No, I look for a better explanation, it isn't race that's running the game, it's willingness.
Fahrenheit 9/11: My brother called me on Thursday to vent his own frustrations about his job. Yet another massive reorganization at Ape-Mat. On Saturday I played a board game with the Tau Bates, Teams of Enemies. One of the questions was: Name the systems in the human body. When you have to cut people from a company, what do you cut? The muscles? The skeleton? At Ape-Mat they decided to cut the nervous system. The people that provided control and feedback. At Poke-land it was across the board atrophy. No, it was more than that. Out of 690 people, 50 retired this year. All their positions were cut. Then they cut 10 more. That's like taking Mary Kate and telling her to lose weight. Power and politics. Fahrenheit 9/11. Pure propaganda. But at least it's on my side. I'm tired of the dominance of Rush Limbaugh and Fox News. But what I took away from the movie wasn't the spin or the counterspun thoughts in my head. I took away just this one phrase. The Coalition of the Willing. It wasn't a group of militarily useless nations. It was us. Maybe some of us weren't so willing. I'll admit, I wasn't one of those. I've been at Poke-land for five and a half years now. I'll think twice before being so willing.