November 20, 2002
7am. Said I'd be catching a
runaway train or something like it. Wet, dewy grass, myself and the open road. Walking quietly in the silence.. gravel crunches and I wave to the hombres, shouting out a hasty "Hola, Amigos!" into the silence. I reach the end of the gravel driveway, spotting a lone figure in flannel, just 10 feet from me. I run the rest of the way, clutching him in a strong embrace, feeling only arms, shoulder, neck, cheek, flannel, warmth. Pulling away a moment later, he says breathlessly, "Hey, good morning, good day, whatever,
what's going on? I'm your next door neighbor and I haven't seen you in months! I mean seriously,
I haven't seen you at all. Are you alright? Where have you been?
I think about what a difficult question that is. I mumble something along the lines of, "
Nothing much. Just been sort of.. away.. busy.." Ignoring his worried look, I jump into his truck, take a quick sip of his coffee, he finally got in and we left. Seven and a half minutes later I am on a sidewalk much closer to civilization. The corner of Mark Avenue and Via Real is busy with morning traffic; people work too much, including myself. I stand under a tree waiting for the 21x, Carpinteria Express. Most people tell me they hate public tansportation, they hate buses. Sure they're not so great, but I don't think they're quite all that bad. Gives me time to write, sleep and think about things. Plus, it's free for me. The transit center is a roundish sort of building containing benches, schedules, people and not much else. I arrive there at 8:30am, and leave promptly to walk down Chapala street about a block, checking out the place I will be meeting a good friend the next day. Afterwards I walk up to State street, and back around to the transit center. Calling my boss to pick me up; he drives 20 mins out of his way to get me. I am that special.
Work is alright, it is a quiet secret deadly hell that I wish I could change. And I will, soon. Everything is white, the walls, carpet, furniture, computers, paper, everything. but to me the rooms have black curtains. I can't see out.
No, they are not beautiful flowers. The sky is not blue. You must be insane. Do you not see the black? It is my job. I am here to earn money. Luckily the job usually entails the use of a computer so I have at least one hand on my sanity...
I'm back at the transit center around 12:30pm. I don't want to go home, I feel horrible, so I decide to wander State Street for awhile. I pass by an adorable boy with curly brown hair and the goldest eyes I've ever seen. He says to me that he is up for adoption.
Great pickup line. He is hopeless and sweet. However, I stop because there's no outstanding reason that I shouldn't. He asks my name, and I just stand there and blush. Like a little girl again. It feels refreshing, in a weird way. He comments on my blushing, saying he is in awe of me. I exchange profound, unspeakable words with him for several minutes. He has captured my heart. Knowing that
this could turn extremely dangerous, I hand him a handwritten note of my best advice:
"Innocence is my secret weapon. Never let them know who you really are. Live life truly, madly, deeply."
I proceed to stumble to the nearest coffee shop and drink two double espressos in quick succession. I could feel his eyes on me the entire way. It was 1pm when I finally looked out the window; he was gone. I was shaking, on the verge of tears, amazed I could have been affected so strongly by a complete stranger. It always happens this way.
I ride the 20 Carpinteria bus back home... deep in thought. Once home, a call came in requesting an order for 100 pounds of Organic Hass Avocados to be delivered to Playa Azul Restaurant on
Santa Barbara and Canon Perdido street. Another call came in for 3 trays of the ranch's Organic Specialty Lettuces. Looked like I'd be doing the deliveries tonight for my family's ranch. My mom offered to drive me, and I gratefully accepted.
I am at Playa Azul, having just delivered avocados to them, and the car is running, parked alongside the road in front of the restaurant. I hop into the car, feeling exhausted, tired, ready to die. The last thing I expected was the sound of tires screeching behind us, and a truck headed for us at top speed, swerving over to the side of the road. My mom's quick reflexes saved our lives (mine and hers), when she pulled up quickly. Thank god the car was running.
As soon as the car stopped, I jumped out of the car and everything was in slow motion. Time stopped. "Somebody dail 911! Somebody... anyone!" My fingers and body were shaking as I made the call from my cell. Everyone running to help. Tears streaming down my face as I stood stunned, five feet from the young girl who was hit, lying on her back in the center of the street. She came into consciousness within 30 seconds and started crying, mumbling she couldn't see, why is everything black, what will happen to her baby, where is she, why does she hurt so much. She didn't feel my hand on her arm or her side. She was several months pregnant. They will try to save the baby. I stayed and watched the ambulance race off to the hospital. The police spoke with us for a few moments, we were witnesses and almost participants. I realized then that
I could have been killed today.
Every Wednesday is a Mid-Week crisis for me. Some are minor, some tragic, others strange and confusing. I'm taking my life day by day, you never know what will happen next. I am still in shock.
Around nine PM my heart was breaking so I went to bed early to listen to it happen.