The 500

Something made me look at Sayuri's blog today. Oddly it's been a good two or three years. About the same time I've made my last entry. It seems she's embarked on another journey, this time from Crestone--which I believe is somewhere in Colorado.

As it happens my blog is saved as a bookmark right under Sayuri's link. Something made compelled me to open it. Actually nothing compelled me. I wanted to write something as I thought of Grey this morning. That in itself isn't anything unusual as I think of her every day. I think of my love for her, her touch, voice, her soft warm lips and her mesmerizing eyes.

I lay in bed thinking of her and the last time we saw each other and the time we spent. For some reason my thoughts of her today were strong. I even dreamt of her early this morning. She was a Japanese pop idol and I was hanging out at the set. She came in sat next to me. Apparently we knew each other well. I was eating cereal [it could have been Cherio's] and almost finished as I saw only a few more in my plate. I had just put a few in mouth and swallowed when Grey sat next to me and leaned over. I automatically kissed her on her lips. A drop of milk appeared as our lips parted. She wasn't expecting the kiss--perhaps a peck on her cheek at most.

But that's the way we always have been, unexpected. And each time, the most intense feelings of longing.

With these thoughts I woke thinking of her. I wonder if I ever cross her mind.

I flick on the television. A smile flows inside me.

Indy 500.

The Wonderment of You: Today is Monday

I'm staring mindlessly at a postcard I received from an old friend, a Japanese painting of a koi pond.

It's been raining steadily throughout the early morning, beating a constant rhythm on the skylights. Off in the distant I hear the swishing of the wet pavement as cars glide through the streets overwhelmed rain.

As I stare at the postcard I feel relieved. As if something has let go. The sadness is still with me, but slowly it has been replaced by the faint embers of warmth--as if there may be a ray of hope somewhere, someday.

While it may be raining out, could it be that in my heart it may be readying to let up?

I hope this may be.

Today is Monday.

The Wonderment of You: Touchstone

Her: Guess I’m just looking for a reason.

Him: It’s like these pies and cakes. At the end of every night, the cheesecake and apple pie are always completely gone. The peach cobbler and chocolate mousse cake are nearly finished, but there's always a whole blueberry pie left untouched.

Her: So what’s wrong with the blueberry pie?

Him: There’s nothing wrong with the blueberry pie. It’s just that people make other choices. You can’t blame the blueberry pie… it’s just… no one wants it.

Her: I want a piece…

Him: With ice cream? Leave it to me.

[smiles]*

-----------------


When you have a December birthday, it’s tough to have people celebrate, much less remember. And the closer the day is to Christmas, the worse it gets. I suppose that’s why I rarely had my birthday celebrated—and when a big deal was made, it actually made me embarrassed, as I had no idea how to react.

Conversely, I guess that’s why I try to make it a point to remember other people’s birthdays. At the very least I’ll call them or send a card even if I’ve missed the day. While it may not matter much to them if I call on the day, after the fact or forget completely, if there’s an off chance they may feel forgotten, I wouldn’t want them to experience it. And if you think about it, as mine is a December birthday, it’s generally a cold day—and when you feel forgotten and forlorn…well, I needn’t say how much more you feel the sting.

It was Rider’s birthday today. Somehow I got the feeling she wasn’t looking forward to it and wished to spend it alone—when I invited her to dinner, she declined and asked if we could do it after her birthday. Nonetheless I sent her a card and left her a corny voicemail. As it happened, I got a call from my banker later in the evening. As we hung up, I mentioned it was Rider’s birthday today and might be a good idea to call her now before it got too late. I was surprise when my banker declined stating that it had been a tough day. Besides, the banker retorted, it wasn't as if Rider had remembered the banker's birthday nor had the banker had birthdays celebrated in year's past.

The banker’s response didn’t anger me as much as it saddened me. I had just promised to do the banker yet another favor on Saturday and that I would call in on that morning to confirm…which I had every intention of doing. Somehow while it was okay for me to go out of my way to fulfill and commit this idiotic favor on my day off, the small task of calling a mutual friend was bothersome because of some flimsy reason. As the banker stated, "why should I?". I could have said the same. I didn't.

Birthdays can be a sensitive thing. Which brings up a question I’ve tussled with for some time now: I always wondered if she remembered my birthday.

Apparently she had something in mind as she called me maybe a month before to check my schedule. She couldn’t take the day off she said, but could we celebrate the day after, she asked. It brought a warm feeling in me…and caught me completely by surprise. I remember I had pulled into my office parking lot, standing beside my car early in the morning taking her call. She had rung me between appointments and need to know as she was trying to block out days off during the holidays.

I didn’t care what she had in mind, but the thought of spending an entire day or evening and having her all to myself would have been enough for me.

A few weeks later we were at store and she happened to buy a St. John dress, I mentioned to her how nice it looked on her. I always had a weakness in the way she dressed. She smiled, and causally replied that she might just wear it for me on my birthday. From that day on, I looked forward to day when she would walk down her stairway as I admired how beautiful she looked, standing in her foyer

That moment was always my favorite part of picking her up. Her walking down the stairway, always dressed so wonderfully—a style that was hers completely. I melted each time.

We weren’t together by the time my birthday came so I never found out what she had in mind, nor did I see her in the St. John. To that point I’m not sure if she even remembered my birthday as I didn’t hear from her. Given her medical situation at the time it was completely understandable.

I do however hold onto the slight chance that she did think about me, even if it were for a fraction of a moment.

…don’t you know that I can make a dream that’s barely half awake come true?**



*Kar Wai Wong, My Blueberry Nights
**Aimee Mann, Coming Up Close

The Wonderment of You: Afterglow

Somewhere on my journey from here to there, she changed my life forever.

I’ve often wondered how one person can so impact one’s life. Have I ever had that effect on another person? Funny how I never thought about that. I was always more preoccupied about how the other person changed mine.

Driving mindlessly I slipped in a CD. It was the CD she had made for me. As the first song played she came into my mind at full force. I pictured clearly how I held her the last day I saw her. I felt so close to her that night in my bedroom. Her standing, me sitting with my arms around her—my head burrowed between her chest as I inhaled her scent. What I wouldn’t do to relive that moment again.

I asked myself why the torture. At least stop it with the music. But as each song played, my four and a half hour journey became a recounting of the precious time I spent with her. As each song played I relished the lyrics, the choice and visualized her listening to the song as well. How much I had loved her. I told her often. She had that effect on me where I would be naked of all of my emotions.

She told me she loved me twice. Both times she would retract it. She also called me sweetheart twice. This she did not retract.

I’m so tired I thought. I wish I could just close my eyes and sleep a deep sleep. I spoke aloud and April joined in on the conversation. I saw her in the rear view mirror as she asked me why I was so tired. I told her that I was depleted of all energy. Yet I had to keep moving on. She was sympathetic. It was her nature to be. When I needed her most she would appear and her tender, soft, almost innocent temperament would soothe me.

Suddenly I woke up and was startled to see April at the foot of the bed. She was sitting there looking at me, smiling. I wasn’t sure if I were still dreaming. She asked me if I wanted some coffee. She said it in such a matter of fact way.

Still confused I couldn’t answer. Did I want some coffee she asked again. It was freshly brew she explained.

I stammered barely able to answer with a yes. My throat was parched. I felt as though I had been crying throughout the night. I felt exhausted.

I asked why she was here. She responded that she had a key. I couldn’t recall giving April a key. As if to read my mind she explained she had taken the spare the last time she was here. Again, it was all matter of fact.

April got up off the bed, confirmed that I took my coffee black and walked into the kitchen. Her voice trailed off as she mentioned how I knew she wasn’t much of a cook so I shouldn’t get my hopes up for breakfast.

Why was she here? But as I questioned, I was happy she was indeed here. I recalled we had agreed to go shopping, but I hadn’t really confirmed nor counted on it. Besides, I had a bad headache from being hung over. Funny, I hadn’t had any alcohol the prior evening. It just felt like a hangover.

April was quietly drinking her coffee. She had a demure quality to her. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. I had known her for a few years now. Attractive, smart, and she had a very upbeat part to her. I suppose those were the qualities that attracted me to her and kept us in touch over the years. Our relationship was more of a friendship, as our efforts to pursue anything further just didn’t happen. She was fun to be with and somehow I represented a safe haven to her when her emotions crumbled.

I met April through her brother while at Babson. We were both attending a two-year program for accelerated business practices through the company. It was a meant to be a tough curriculum and only one individual from each agency division was selected. I was the flunky that represented our agency; Hiro represented his firm’s Tokyo operations as the managing director. We hit it off immediately and when he learned of my background we become long lost friends.

During the first year’s session Hiro gave me April’s number and told me to call her when I got back. He explained how she could be a handful, but how I would like her and maybe we could go out to dinner sometime. Apparently she lived in West LA and owned a small, thriving boutique

What he didn’t explain was that April was an accomplished pianist by the time she was twelve. She had studied formally from the age of five and attended the Conservatoire National in Paris when her father was transferred from Osaka to Paris.

But somehow in her late 20’s her career derailed and she exited her music career and for some years wandering aimlessly. There was a short marriage to an American screenwriter, and after the divorce April settled in Los Angeles.

I’m not sure why our relationship didn’t flourish. It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t handle or deal with her emotional ups and downs, but she withdrew by writing her own tragedies and any momentum we had towards intimacy ceased to exist. While it was agonizing, I was fairly patient with her but at some point we both decided that we should just be friends.

I kept her brother informed sparingly but gave him the details whenever we got together. Her brother confided that April had always had issues with her emotions. It wasn’t depression, she overcompensated for what she was feeling and suddenly it consumed her. Whatever it is, I think it’s what kept her going with the piano. But one day, it just ended.

April’s brother once told me why he thought we would get along. He explained how we were both on the passive side and tended to overanalyze things and require clarification. I wasn’t sure if those were my good or bad traits. Not so much as an afterthought, he added that my easy-going demeanor would be a good match with his sister. He added how comfortable he would be knowing she was seeing a good guy that would care for her.

I was recalling that conversation with April’s brother as I quietly sipped my coffee. I asked her if she was serious about the shopping. She replied affirmative and was looking forward to spending the afternoon with me. Besides, she reminded me that the after Christmas sales were going on and I really could use a few new suits.

Besides April informed me, she was leaving for Osaka the next day.

Was there anything wrong I asked her? She replied that she just missed her family. It was almost New Year’s and she longed for spending time relaxing with loved ones. Besides, her brother would also be joining them and she hadn’t seen him in almost a year.

She also added how her brother was disappointed that I had turned down the job offer. She caught me by surprise. I had just turned it down the previous week. It was a good opportunity but it would have entailed a move.

April asked me why I turned it down. I explained how I had pursued it based on the fact that it was a Los Angeles based position. It turned out to be Chicago based. I explained to her that Chicago was out of the question. Besides, I couldn’t keep running away.

She asked me if I missed her. I wasn’t ready for this question. A lump formed in my throat. April saw my reaction and apologized. She did her best to change the subject. I couldn’t let go of the anger that was building inside of me. Why couldn’t she leave me alone I asked her. It was misdirected anger but I couldn’t help myself. The proverbial dam had broken.

The Wonderment of You: In My Life

What is your favorite?

I suppose it's a fairly innocent thing to ask a person. It's only natural to get a person talking about themselves. But it's something I rarely ask as it's a question I have a hard time answering myself.

Whether it's favorite cuisine, book, place to travel, it's a question I stumble to answer and hate to be asked because it's stifling to be cornered into one thing--imagine, of all the colors of this world, how can you choose one?

Oddly, there is one song that I can unequivocally call my favorite. It's not because it reminds me of any moment in my life or person but for some reason it's a song I can rarely listen without it striking an emotional cord. It's been several decades, cities, points of my life where this song has been with me.



There are places i'll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends i still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life i've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When i think of love as something new
Though i know i'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know i'll often stop and think about them
In my life i love you more

Though i know i'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know i'll often stop and think about them
In my life i love you more
In my life i love you more

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.

---

*Neil Finn