fondness

Friday night: She accompanied me to my friend's home studio, where she was inspired by my slap-happy rapping over sinister-sounding hip-hop beats to write a rap of her own. It was a cute and sincere gesture. She ended up on the chorus of the song before the upstairs neighbor complained about the noise, promptly ending the session at 3 AM. She and I ended up at Sitton's in North Hollywood, talking over coffee and breakfast.


Saturday morning: We had plans to visit Griffith Observatory, leftover form the date date two weeks ago. I didn't sleep at all, catching a catnap here and there before making my way out her. We ate Fruity Pebbles cereal, watched Chappelle's Show on DVD, and caught the Metro Rail from Santa Monica & Vermont to Hollywood & Highland where the Observatory Shuttle Depot was located. Once we made the arduous, winding trek up the mountains to the top of the hill where the Observatory resided lazily like a bloated king teetering on his dilapidated throne, we bought tickets for the Planetarium show and smoked our cigarettes with style.

The docent narrating the Planetarium show was unintentionally funny, her radio-savvy voice lacing the properly enunciated program text with not-so-subtle passages of melodramatic overacting. This caused us to laugh mischievously, like disobedient children snickering in church.

But the show was marvelous. We left shortly afterward.


Saturday afternoon: We returned to her house. I napped some more as she draped fabrics over a mannequin. Then, she asked me if I wanted to go to Goodwill and shop for vintage/used clothing. I consented. It turned out that there was a three-day sale on all clothing items: $3 each, a price you couldn't beat even at Goodwill. Neither of us had known about the sale in advance, so it was a pleasant surprise. She chose jeans for me to try on, and I trusted her taste (being that she works in the fashion industry) and what's more: I did not resent her for it. Later on she told me that the reason why I listened to her was because I was finally ready for what she had to offer, which made me wonder how she knew that I was not ready in the past, well before I ever met her.

As the day began to fade, she took me to an Indian restaurant on Melrose. She had a coupon for a two-for-the-price-of-one dinner. Over the chicken and lamb entrees, I told her about my novel. She knows me primarily as a musician and an artist, but not really as a writer (raps notwithstanding). I discovered that she used to write when she was younger. From past experiences with other girls I could tell that she wanted to ask me if she could read my work but was too shy or afraid to ask. Instead, she approached it in her charming, direct-yet-indirect manner by demanding a chapter all about her... to which I replied, "I'll write an entire book about you..."

Smooth, eh? I suppose, but I meant it with every square inch of my soul and being.


Saturday evening: We drove out to see the Wolf Man, a fitting visit to make considering there was a full moon in the sky. The both of us were also aware that Mercury has been in retrograde for some time, but what was truly amazing was how perfect our Saturday was turning out for us. Everything we did worked out the way it was supposed to work out, and it was not lost on us.

Wolfie had some Salvia divinorum on him. I consented to give it a shot but warned him that a previous attempt on my part to try the legal hallucinogen was bunk. She and I both partook of it shortly after Wolf had showed us the method, and within seconds I felt slanted, angular, my imagination burning and my eyes pulsating with psychedelic purpose. The TV stand morphed with the coffee table, and she and Wolf seemed to morph into both the coffee table and my cigarette smoke.

Then, after five minutes, the trip wore off. For the rest of the night I felt brain-boggled. She told me that (in her trip) she forgot who we were, and only snapped out of it after she remembered that we'd done it also. Meanwhile, Wolf Man was baked, having done it every night after work for an entire week. To cool down, I produced a joint, and we all laughed and drank wine and talked into the late night, on to the early morning, her banshee laughter trickling up and down my spine, in behind my ears and echoing in my heart...

I dropped her off at home, and left only after kissing her and holding her in my arms for as long as I could muster. But I knew I had to go home-- I could not stay. I needed to sleep in my own bed. I needed to unwind on my own. She needed to get rested apart from me.

That way, when I saw her the next evening, the fondness we feel for each other would blossom in the wake of our respective absences...

Last Saturday was one of the best Saturdays I've ever spent in my life. I pray that it was not the peak, but merely the beginning of something I cannot predict nor imagine.