All of a sudden, after two years of applying for positions and interviewing in vain, I have five job prospects.
I’ve already worn my one “interview outfit” to the first round of questioning and can’t wear the same to Round 2. That’s why, this afternoon, I was searching for a suit at consignment and high-end thrift stores.
Before I found my 100-percent-silk, forest-green, $20 Anne Taylor suit—in my size!—at the American Cancer Society store, I happened across Darlene and Ken at the Seal Beach Pier. Sometimes people, objects or events hold messages for us, if we recognize them as such. This was definitely the case with Darlene and Ken.
As I walked along Main Street, eying the merchandise in the shops, but delighting more in the colors and shapes of the objects than in the prospect of owning them, I had the thought, “Every week I will go out into the world and encounter people. At least once during a week, I will make a point to do so, and by so doing I might form friendships or—miracle of miracles—even a love relationship.
“That’s it— I’ll show myself off to the world. Something I haven’t been doing much of for the past 10 months. I stopped reviewing performances for a local paper back in May, and there went my social life. The friends I had invited to these events as my guests have dropped off, save one. Since then, I have worked and stayed home. Not much else. Today marks a new beginning.”
I strolled the pier, smiling inwardly at this simple idea, looking out at the gray, pensive sky; the high-rises of downtown Long Beach; and two surfers who were waiting for the perfect wave and not doing much with the perfectly good ones that were coming their way. I smiled at the back side of a young man playing his guitar to the ocean, and I must have been smiling at everyone and everything—that deep feeling of connection with all that is pervading my mood—because a man in his mid-60s stopped to smile back and add, “Hi, pretty lady.”
Just like the job prospects, this man was an unexpected bit of magic, as I couldn’t remember a man saying something like that to me in a very long time, maybe years. A shift is definitely occurring, I thought, a beautiful shift.
As I walked back toward Main Street, I encountered another man, this one younger than the flatterer by about 15 years. He was taking a photo of his girlfriend or wife. As I so often do, I asked them if they wanted me to take a photo of both of them. They were very happy that I had asked, but even more so, they were just plain happy.
I asked where they were from, and they said, “Here.” Then Darlene gushed, “But this pier is really special to us.”
“Oh, yes?” I queried, always the journalist.
“It’s quite a story,” Darlene said, smiling at Ken.
“Oh, good! I love stories!”
Darlene and Ken had known each other in high school, but both of them had been too shy to make a move. After graduation, they’d gone their separate ways until late last year, when a friend of Darlene’s gave her Ken’s address. At first she had the kind of idea I often get, only Darlene didn’t act on it—show up at Ken’s doorstep unannounced. Instead, she sensibly wrote him a Christmas card and enclosed her phone number. Ken called, and they have hit it off big time. I could see that—they were even color-coordinated. (Yikes!)
“Oh, wow!” I said. “Now I’ve got to take your picture!”
They really thought that was cute, but I suspect they are in that drunken state where they think most everything is cute.
We parted ways, but later I encountered them again, sitting on a park bench and giving each other close-lipped pecks. Then it was my turn to gush, telling them how inspirational their story is and how thankful I am to have met them.
Of course, I thought of Naguib Akbar, the playful, doe-eyed, motorcycle-riding Pakistani with the backpack full of hashish who I dated as an 18-year-old and foolishly let slip away. Naguib wrote two letters to me c/o my mother’s address, the last one 25 years ago. I responded to neither, as my then-husband was jealous of Naguib—I had left Naguib to be with him—and I knew how unlike Naguib he was. Three years ago, I wrote a letter to Naguib at a Florida address I had found on peoplesearch.com. I never heard from him, so I sent him a shorter letter about a month ago. Perhaps Darlene and Ken are a love talisman, as it has also been three decades since I saw Naguib.
But Naguib or not, new love interest or not, even new job or not, a deep contentment and, yes, magic fill me to the top today. Sitting as I am now in my simple apartment with my simple furniture and belongings, I feel bright and “open” just staring at the empty space between these objects. This, too, is magic.
