I was riding a train, sitting next to a window, on the top story, drinking miniature bottles of red wine, to cope with my recent break up. I could barely appreciate the beautiful parts of California I was seeing, the sun coming through the glass felt like torture, I put my flannel up to block the fire beams. A woman wearing army style cargo pants sat to my right and said, “your smart.”
Thank you. I felt sick, the stress of having failed at moving to California, breaking up with someone I waited a year to be with, and the cops having to stop our fight, really started to weigh in on me. I was heading to Los Angeles, barely excited to go to a place I often dreamed of. I got there and it was late, I had 15 of my 30 bags still with me.
I was able to take the bags with me thanks to a young man in Oakland who I left vegetables with, a nice woman in heels and a business outfit on the train platform, a train attendee on one of the trains who helped me store some excess baggage, a grey haired bus driver, a woman I met in the LA bus station who was an older version of me, a Taxi driver who walked me to the house where my sister was staying with her friend. Where I might add, I was not welcome. “Good luck.”
Thank you. Fast forward to me, semi sleep deprived, looking for jobs in Ocean Beach California, where I found none. I end up hanging out with a young man named Steve and we go to Pacific Beach California. I am scared, having been raised in suburbia all my life, and after losing track of Steve in this unfamiliar town, am left alone, on the streets of Pacific Beach. What do I do, I run, I hide, I lock myself in a bathroom, I lie to police officers, and pretend to be the sister of my many brothers working at a nearby Taco Stand. My shoes, “oh officer I left them with my brother, I get so bored late at night, and went for a walk.”
Oh alright, just making sure you are okay.
Thank you.
In the morning I wander along the beach searching for Steve, having not been able to find the street I left him in. I find myself in a tent, preaching salvation, and I suggest we believe in Britney Spears, upon which I am argued with and leave. I am holding a flower, and a I leave a flower on a chair. I walk underneath a pier, which at night seemed like monsters and murderers must be living under, and I come across an older man, wearing backless pants, as in hit butt was showing. I asked him if he knew Steve. He said.
“Do you know who I am. I am God I protect the woman on this beach. I will come back reincarnated as a young brown haired girl to recreate the world.” He was drawing pictures in the sand. I drew some pictures in the sand. He was listening to a walkman on his head phones. We talked for a while. He was cool. I ended up finding my way back to Pacific Beach, starving, without Steve, no longer friends with Steve, walking across a bridge, listening to my own walkman and headphones, planning the rest of my life, and how hopefully it will be just as beautiful but way better than this.