The Wonderment of You: Quadrifoglio

April brought a sweeping change to his heart. Though it was still of period of uncertainty, somehow it represented calm. It happened innocently with a passing remark he made about the CD she was examining. It was a John Coltrane collection he had happened to own and mentioned it was worth considering, especially as it featured a few Count Basie numbers. It was just a passing comment, nothing more.

They met later in the day by coincidence. He was in a store trying on sunglasses and heard her comment that the one he had just tried on wasn’t a good choice. She suggested a trying the one with the square lens, commenting that it better complemented his round facial features. She pointed a black frame version and indicated he should try those on.

Perfect.

He thanked her for the advice and she merely smiled and replied that she was just returning the favor. And by the way, she had sampled the CD in her car and thus far she was delighted.

He hated being asked what he did for a living. While on the surface, it was an easy enough occupation, however because of his specialization it took several minutes of explanation and usually most individuals just gave a glossed over look. In the end he generally changed the conversation and asked what they did. It was so much easier listening. This prevailing attitude somewhat ruled his life. He just wasn’t interested in much anymore. Besides, most individuals were so preoccupied with themselves; they would just go on for hours on end. He merely had to indicate interest and only half listen. He would be miles away the other half of his time, day dreaming how he wished he were elsewhere.

Another point of contention was the car he drove. A red 1967 Alfa Romeo GTV. Most viewed the car as some passing mid-life crises fancy. Especially the woman he dated. Even the testosterone filled gender who fancied themselves as a car enthusiast would make a passing favorable comment on his car and quickly start to talk about their preference—to which he only paid polite attention, but had no interest in hearing. In truth the car represented his childhood. He remembered clearly when he first saw the car. He was sitting in a window seat of this school bus when he spotted the car. Something about the color, the Guigiaro bodyline and the aggressive stance stirred something in him. He saw the walnut stick shift knob and steering wheel and instantly placed himself in the drivers’ seat. From that day on, the Quadrifoglio Verde, or the lucky four-leaf clover settled into a permanent place in his heart.

So given his emotions about the Alfa, he would respond poorly to those who questioned his vehicular choice. Granted it wasn’t the best choice as a reliable mode of transport, but he relied on his lease car for the everyday commute. It seemed the biggest source of conflict was when those around him questioned how he could sit in the car for hours.

“What do you think about,” they would ask.

In all honesty, he couldn’t answer, as he himself had no idea what he thought about during those hours. It was just a span of time when he would drift off to whatever thought entered his mind. Besides, his favorite sport was daydreaming.

When the car was running, he would take off to the Four Corners area of New Mexico and Arizona in search of the country Tony Hillerman wrote so passionately in his novels. His friends would question why he would his somewhat unreliable car to such a desolate place, only to circle back and return upon arrival. The mused about his temperamental heater, lack of air conditioning and the A.M. radio. He was accused on occasion by whomever he was dating at the time if his sojourns weren’t actually a romantic rendezvous—perhaps with a Navajo sweetheart he had met on the tribal grounds.

“Did you meet her on the Internet,” they would ask.

In truth the road trips were just road trips. It really served no purpose except it was just a way to get away. Sometimes he would get as far as Barstow and he would stop to eat, have a beer and return home. Perhaps it was just the notice of the road trip that appealed to him more so than the trip itself.

They walked out of the store together into the parking lot. They happened to approach his car first and he mentioned that this was where he was parked. The woman asked if the Alfa was his, and he acknowledged.

You must love the car she remarked. "My older brother had a GTV when he was in college. It always ran awful and he didn’t have the money to keep up on repairs, but he was completely married to it. Funny, he drives a SUV now, but he still talks about the car. It was his first love, I think."

“By the way, my name is April,” she said as she put out her hand.

The Wonderment of You: Starbucks

Sunday morning.

I wake up throughly drained around 5am. I've been at my Mom's house for a week and today I get to go home. A week's just too long and with all the running around, the early mornings, and my Mom's erratic behavior the last few days, I was exhausted. Especially unnerving were the two dreams I had. The first was one of those hard to understand, non-sensical types. The second was a bit more jarring and obviously had significant meanings.

The first dream was a short one and in living color. It took place in a field which had a one lone billboard. It was a sign announcing a real estate development for homes soon to be built. I was standing next to it looking out into the field. It seemed early morning. I had a photo in my hand and it was a photo of the billboard. Oddly, in the photo, there was a suction cup on the billboard--one of those clear ones you stick up in the bathtubs and showers--placed on the billboard for no apparent reason. I looked up from the photo and noticed there wasn't a suction cup on the actual billboard. But at that moment, I realized I had a suction cup in my left hand and understood immediately I was to place it on the billboard in the exact same spot. For some reason I knew that this was a critical act. I placed the suction cup carefully and a second later a woman appeared about 50 yards away. I stood staring at her as she started running towards me. There was an oddness to the scene--it seemed we were on two different planes or dimensions, our worlds slightly askew. I recognized her as she came closer, though I had no idea who she was. As she came closer, I ran towards her and we embraced for a moment in front of the billboard. I woke up right at that moment, wondered what that was all about and fell asleep again. The second dream seemed to start almost instantaneously.

I was late on a job interview at some network in Hollywood. I was driving from Santa Monica and was in a massive traffic jam. I had no clue where the interview was to be at, so I parked the car and resorted to a map. As I got out of the car to open the map and fish the address from my pocket, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and it's some chunky kid. He handed me a phone and said it's for me. I look at the phone number on the display and while an area code wasn't present, I knew it was from the Sacramento office. There was an incident.

The next thing I know I'm in the office seated at a round table with some staff members. I'm not certain if they were actual staff members, but the individual in question which was at the center of this office disturbance was nobody I had met before. She was disgruntled and acting out. She had exaggerated curly hair similar to Shirley Temple, heavy black framed eyeglasses and wore a ridiculously short dress. I was repulsed by her appearance. She was yelling and screaming about some incident and turned around, threw something on the table and slammed doors as she ran towards the ladies room. Apparently this wasn't the first time. I ran after her and entered the ladies room. She stood in the middle of the room. I was furious with anger--so much so I couldn't speak at times. I reprimanded her about her behavior, terminated her employment and told her to leave. The anger was so real I woke up somewhat shaken. What was that all about? As I ran through the dream over and over again, it seemed it had something to do with my Mom and my conversations with her about her behavior.

I felt somewhat melancholy after thinking about the dreams. And I'm sure the guilt of leaving didn't help too much. After breakfast and a few hours of conversation, I bid farewell to my Aunt, Uncle and Mom. I was leaving to drive to Sam's house. The plan was to return his car and he would drive me to the airport.

I was early so I decided to stop at a Starbuck's near his house to check my emails. As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I had been to this location before. Several years ago when my marriage was ending, I had met Sam at this Starbuck's to tell him what was going on. I think it may have been around Thanksgiving and it wasn't a particularly happy time for me. Absolutely nothing--work and personal life--was going well. The world seemed gray and drab. I told Sam what was going on and he replied that he had suspected as such. He asked how I was doing and I lied and told him I was fine.

I asked how he was doing and to my surprise he started talking at length about his marriage. Things were not going well and he had thought of divorce. He added that this sentiment may be mutual and even thought there was a possibility of an affair--and he had even contemplated one himself. In the end, both parties remained faithful and they are still together. And while there are still some issues, things, he said to me recently, things are better.

As I sat and started up the computer I recalled the incident. An emotion packed Starbuck's, I thought to myself. And while the nature of our conversation wasn't particularly enlightening, somehow we became closer since that day--more so than ever before. It was one of those key moments that you never forget and can put a finger as a turning point.

As I thought of this I noticed I had an email from Jenn. Apparently she had responded to the email notification from Blogger.

She responded to what was to be my last entry of my previous series. I read her note and was touched by what she wrote. I wrote back to her, tears welling up thanking her and explaining I was closing out the series. The last chapter I wrote was to be the title story. It was time to move ahead into a new series, I wrote her.

I got up to leave. I still felt drained--neither sad nor happy. But I was clear about two things: I couldn't wait to go home to be in the city where she lived.

The second?

It was unlikely I would ever step foot into this Starbuck's again.

The Wonderment of You: Philadelphia

"...but you'll never see the end of the road while you're traveling with me"*

The streets of Philadelphia were in cheer today as the Phillies paraded as World Series champs with the pride of besting the Devil Rays. It's definitely a Philadelphia day. I was musing about this later in the day while on a walk when Springsteen's, "Streets of Philadelphia" started to play on the iPod. It's the only Springsteen song I own as I'm not a huge fan. But somehow this song always resonated with me. It's a haunting song from the movie "Philadelphia". Maybe haunting isn't the right word, but the lyrics are very strong as it recounts in first person, the story of an AIDS patient.

I still recall the movie fairly vividly. Tom Hanks and Denzil Washington were wonderful as they played their roles with such exacting feeling. I felt as though I was just watching two individuals reacting as one might in real life. While the casting of Antonio Banderas as Hanks' lover is debatable as a good choice, his undying love as his partner drifts towards his last days was engagingly written. I suppose you can say they had traveled life together and that's what mattered.

I learned yesterday that Bruce, my boss' mother passed away sometime past midnight on Friday. She was 85, about the same age as my Mom. I've known Bruce now for over 20 years. With the passing of his father a few years ago, this now leaves him alone without any living parents. Given his Mom's age her death probably didn't come as a surprise and while there is tremendous sadness, I'm sure he and his family was prepared. But suppose it had been his wife? There would be no comparison. While he may mourn his loved one's death over time, the loneliness of having to travel through the rest of his life by oneself would be heartbreaking and incomprehensible for me.

I suppose it's human nature to ponder about the end of the road. But truly, if your travels are with someone you hold dear, would you ever see the end of the road? Would there even be one? I'd like to think not.

Two tickets to Philadelphia please.

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*Neil Finn