Eight
When I called E after waiting a couple of days like I was told I found her time was being spent with the guy she was seeing from Long Beach. We made a date to get together and see the play “Miss Saigon”, but it was over a month away. She said in the meantime we could talk on the phone and write. I thought this was kind of strange, but I was occupied at the time with trying to finalize my divorce. The paperwork was truly incredible, and it seemed no sooner had I sent a form off it would be returned on some technicality and I would have to take a late lunch to go to the courthouse and stand in line to have the clerk at the window dealing with divorces explain how to fill out the form. I swear I made at least six late lunch journeys to the courthouse to stand in line to have the clerk who works at the window dealing with divorces help me fill out a form. The clerk was very patient and very nice. If there are such things as angels on earth, she was one. A friend told me I should do the divorce myself and not use an attorney. He said it would be quicker and easier. He may have been right, but I bet it was more mentally taxing and frustrating. After that experience I may be qualified to offer my services as a professional divorce paperwork processor. Either that or a professional line stander. I tell you; I’ve never seen so many emotionally raw people in my life as the people who were in line with me. And I’m sure if I could have had the power to see my own face, I looked every bit as ragged as they did.
It’s Saturday night and I just finished watching an old beach movie. I hate to say this, but I liked it. The color was so vivid, and everyone looked fantastic. I turn off the TV and look up at the clock and see that it’s time to go do something. Anything. I’m restless and bored. I decide to get on the bus that stops across the street and ride it and see where I end up. I put on my boots, and as I step out the door, the Brown mother and her three children that live in the apartment across the hall are standing in the entrance making strange sounds. Judging by the tone and their interaction it is some kind of game that only they know. It sure sounds weird. It sounds so weird I can’t even describe it. There’s not a bench at the bus stop across the street from where I live, and a Brown man is sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the wall waiting. I wait as well, wishing that a car of strangers would pull over and ask me if I wanted to go for a ride. If that happened right now, I would definitely say yes and get inside the car. My car of strangers doesn’t arrive, and I see the bus pull over at the stop just up the street and I tell the Brown man sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the wall waiting that the bus is coming. He stands and as the bus pulls up and stops, I let him get on first. The bus driver seems like a friendly guy. He’s wearing a brown flannel shirt instead of his bus driver’s uniform. I guess today must be his casual dress day. My hope for a quiet bus ride is squashed because these two White boys in their early twenties get on talking, sit down next to me, and talk the entire time they are aboard. I give up trying not to listen to them. They chatter mostly about girls and to tell you the truth they are so boring and uninteresting it doesn’t even warrant detailing. They mercifully get off and a guy wearing a red hunting cap gets on. For the life of me I cannot comprehend why someone would wear a hat like that in the city. The bus twists and turns and everybody has gotten off except me and this older Yellow woman. I figure we must be getting to the end of the line. There is a bottle rolling around on the floor at the back of the bus and the driver pulls over and stops. I get off and realize he pulled over to get the bottle. He tosses it at the garbage container at the stop just as I walk by, and it smashes against the side. I’m on Broadway and Van Ness and decide to walk Van Ness to the water. I walk past the clothing store and the toy train store to Lombard Street. I’m hungry and decide to eat at a submarine sandwich shop I know. I’m the only one in the sandwich shop and I watch the tourists walk by. You can always tell the people visiting from out of town because they look so clean and crisp. People here are a little weathered. I finish eating and head back up Van Ness trying to keep a comfortable distance from the woman walking in front of me. She keeps stopping and looking back. She turns and begins walking towards me and I swing wide of her. She asks me to stop. She wants to know the way to a specific bar. I tell her to keep walking the direction she is heading. She thanks me and walks on. I’m relieved not to have her walking in front of me. I get to the water and instead of going right towards the wharf I decide to turn left. I jump over the cement wall that separates the upper area from the lower area and scare two Brown teenagers kissing. I apologize and hop down onto the water rocks promptly falling on my rear. The rocks are wet and very slick from the moss on them. I stand and walk along them and under the plank that leads to some building on posts. It’s kind of scary under here. It’s murky and I realize there might be water rats. I surface on the other side of the plank and step back up to the cement at the base of the water wall. I follow it, stepping over big drainage pipes until I get to where the walkway ends. I look around and realize I am totally alone. For the first time since I’ve been in the city, I am all by myself: No homeless people, New Rich Kids, Tourists, Fringe Folks, nobody. I sit and listen to the waves as they crash against the rocks. It’s quite loud. My heart is beating fast, and my head is racing. I’m finally alone. This feeling is hard to explain. It’s frightening and totally satisfying at the same time. I’m thinking about everything and finally decide that it’s all going to be alright. A strange peace settles over me and I get on my knees and say a prayer.