What was it, thirty years?
The waitress at Hal’s must’ve passed your table five or six times before she stopped and asked.
You knew each other – more than that, you made promises – a long time ago.
Same eyes – same ones you swore you’d never forget – same ones you met in High School. Been that long.
Much as you were taking inventory, so was she. You freely admit to having a wall of fat that could keep trespassers out, a receding hairline and a raging inability to wear the same clothes you did when Ronald Reagan was President.
For her part – the hair became blonde, the lines became deep and boobs appeared where there used to be none. Even in high school, she wasn’t thrilled to have the body of a twelve year old boy – now hitting somewhere in her fifties she was making up for lost esteem.
It was awkward for a nanosecond before it all came flooding back. Jumbled sentences and remembering she still had a half-hour to go before her shift was over.
You stuck around till she got off work. A stroll down Abbot Kinney, taking in ocean breeze, trendy shops and past lives.
It could have been an interview for Middle-Management – she wanted to know everything. What were you doing, how have you been, any kids, still live in L.A., what’s your wife do?
Checked the box marked Divorce – so did she. Two kids, not speaking to you – two kids, living with their father. Stuck at a job you hate – would love her job if it wasn’t for the people. Still living in the same place, going on twenty-five years. She’s moving out of sober living at the end of the month. You were never a fan of getting loaded – she was a devoted fan. Your marriage got busted up by a third party – her marriage got busted up by Johnnie Walker.
For all the different roads you took, it was still 30 years that vanished. Wondered why you broke up in the first place – best excuse you could come up with was life and how it tosses around detours. She met somebody – you met somebody. Flimsiest premise to end a good thing – the promise of something better, cuter, sexier and why didn’t you take out the trash when she asked?
You had work in the morning and she had curfew. A passing thought suggested she move in with you – play house like you did in your twenties. No more distractions – you’ve both become ghosts. You decided it wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe do the adult thing and be friends – swap numbers and take lips hostage, even if it was for more than a minute and you forgot what tongues tasted like.
The hug stayed long past its due date. She was dying of loneliness and you promised to call, at least once a week. It was the hands that wouldn’t let go. You almost suggested your place and a night for old times sake. She was tired and you had doubts you could close the deal anyway.
She got in her car and you watched her drive off. You were struck with the thought that maybe you would never see her again – that was a possibility.
You drove home with a pulse surging and a brain flashing back to 1979. Hadn’t felt that way in a while. You missed it – it tickled.
Climbed into bed and started drifting off.
And the phone rang.
And as a reminder of what 1979 was sounding like – here’s three hours worth of Mike Raphone at KROQ from February 28, 1979.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
