Dirty Red Kiss

Three

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I do actually live in one of the most beautiful cities in the country. My favorite places all involve the ocean. I like to go onto the piers and look at the water. The piers are for the ferries that bring people over to work. If I go out onto them a security guard will come and roust me. I always ignore the guards and wait until they are standing right next to me. Then I get up and go. Every once in a while, I’ll get lucky and be able to sit on the pier without being bothered. I’ll sit right on the edge and rise and fall with the waves, listening to the creaking of the planks and squawking of the gulls. I always imagine jumping into the bay. My most favorite spot in the city is Ocean Beach. I love the Pacific. My ex and I stayed in a motel right next to it when we first arrived. We saw two cranes at the beach on our first night here. I thought it was a good omen. It wasn’t. If I can I’ll take the Muni train to the ocean and walk by that motel. Next door there is a coffee shop that had an open mike night. Once this old bearded white guy drug in this huge amplifier and played a short Blues set with an electric guitar. I remember he did one original song about wine, wine, wine, pass down that bottle of wine. He was the best act that night. There was also a young white girl who played the guitar and sang. Her biggest supporter was her mom. All the other performers read poetry. I’ll walk past those places, across the Great Highway, down the sand dunes, and out to the ocean. One of the things I’ve come to notice about living in the city is that in public you are never alone. Not even at the beach. No matter what time of day or night I come out here there are always people around. And you can’t walk out into the water, bend over and cup your hands to catch the surf, let it go, and then bring your hands to your mouth to taste the sea salt without knowing someone can see you. But I do it anyway.

It’s Sunday evening and the Brown children are playing in the courtyard. It’s basically a cement area where all the stairways lead and there are signs that say, “No Playing In Courtyard” and “No Jugar En La Yarda.” It drives my roommate crazy when the kids are out there, but I like it. It’s nice having children around. It makes the place feel homey. Right now, they are rollerblading and throwing water balloons. I had to step over the paper plates of food because they set them on the steps.

I have very detailed fantasies. One of them has me in the subway waiting for the train. I’m standing at the edge of the platform right on the yellow plastic raised area they’ve put down as a safety zone, so you know when you are too close to the edge. I stand at the rear of the platform near the entrance of the tunnel and listen for the train. I hear it and step to the edge. I look straight down the tunnel and watch the light on the train. You can see the light from quite a way away. It looks like it’s not moving at all for what seems like a long time. I watch the light grow bigger and bigger and the wind from the train rustles my clothes and blows my hair. And just as the train is about to enter the station, I jump off the platform right onto the tracks.

When I was in Junior High or High School, I can’t remember which, I was at this outdoor education center in a forest somewhere in the mountains. I don’t know why. Probably for some class I was taking so I wouldn’t have to take an academically challenging class even though I should have taken the academically challenging classes because all the girls I liked were the smart girls in those classes. They were the ones in the yearbook that were the presidents of all those student organizations. Anyway, I was in the mountains for some reason, and we had to persevere over the obstacles in the place. We climbed a wall by using only arm strength moving wooden pegs in and out of holes straining to get up and over the wall. We stood on a tree stump and fell backwards while our partner caught us. I remember they said the reason for this exercise was to build trust. And we walked along this rope that you would usually climb in PE class only this time it extended between two trees. We had to climb up a tree, step out onto a wooden plank, then make our way along this rope. I held out my arms and slowly inched across the rope while it jerked and swayed. The reason I’m mentioning this is because today is Monday. And I don’t know about most of you, but that is what Mondays are like for me.