What if I see her and it’s pouring? I didn’t bring an umbrella because I’m not in New York City, and I’ve stopped carrying umbrellas since I left. In New York I was so good about bringing an umbrella if the Weather Channel app on my phone said it might rain later that day. Even if the chances were slim, I’d bring one. You never know. But I’m not in New York City and things are different in my life, including weather. What if it just starts pouring when I see her? What if we’re outside on the street, and neither of us has an umbrella and so we have to run away to our cars. Would I yell out that I’m not running away because of her, but because of the rain? I would hope she would hear it clearly enough to understand. That’s a lot to yell, especially when it’s raining.
What if I’m mid-conversation with a friend when I see her? It happens to be a serious conversation and I am being an attentive friend. Listening and nodding, and occasionally offering up some insightful piece of advice about open communication. I’ve been working a lot on communication for myself, and this friend’s issue happens to be in that department. It’s weird when things line up like that—a weakness you’ve been working on personally gets shined back at you through someone else’s issue. Wow, what a coincidence. But this friend needs me, and I am there, solid and nurturing. What if I see her right then in the middle of that? Then what? A good friend would just keep going, keep nurturing. Friendship is hard to find and I want my friends to know I care and support them, unconditionally. But what if she’s just there all of a sudden. What if my friend is crying when I see her! Then what? I could try and silently motion with one arm. (The friend is leaning on me, weighing down my other arm so I can’t lift it—it’s fallen asleep actually, which is a whole other situation. Lately things have been falling asleep—limbs and extremities that is. I should probably see someone about it. My friend doesn’t need to hear about it right now though, that’s for sure. I can tell them later, get their advice, see if they know any specialists.) Anyway, I guess I could gesture to her with my one free arm that I can’t right now, my friend needs me. I could try and mouth the words, I’m sorry, I’m a good friend, and I’m being supportive and sharing my newfound but limited knowledge regarding communication. But those things are hard to understand unless you can read lips. I don’t think she can. It wasn’t ever something she seemed interested in, but who knows? Maybe she can now. I can only hope.
What if I see her after a fitness class? I have been working out more and this particular class is extremely intense. It’s seventy-five minutes. I can’t believe I made it through. What if I see her in the parking lot after that class, and I’m drenched in sweat? I can’t explain how long the class was, or how challenging it is. Who does that? I’m getting better since I started taking the class and can almost muster up the courage to attempt to do a headstand. I can’t brag about that to her. You can’t just begin a casual discussion with where you’re at in terms of headstands. It’s a longer conversation. So, I’m just dripping sweat and my shirt is wet and I can’t explain any of it! Some people even bring an extra shirt to change into after class because they’re so sweaty, so I’m not the only one, but I didn’t bring an extra shirt, because as much as I try to plan my life anticipating disaster, bringing an extra shirt never seemed dire. Now I know. Then there’s the whole ordeal of me standing there in workout clothes and sandals. And not cool sport sandals. They’re really cute sandals, ones I’d wear with jeans. Extremely cute actually. But with yoga clothes, what am I thinking? She’d probably be wondering why I’m not in sneakers. She’d probably think this is how I dress now. She’ll think I wear workout clothes as regular clothes during the middle of the day with cute sandals. I could find a car or something to walk behind, hiding my bottom half. No, too much time has already gone by. She’d know about the sandals. It’d be over as soon as it began.
What if I see her in line for a bathroom at a Starbucks? I had to pee so badly, and so I stopped inside a Starbucks. I’d then do what I always do: act like I’m going to get in line to buy a coffee and spontaneously realize I have to pee, and then, again, I spontaneously come up with the solution to pee first and then buy the coffee. The silent play I enacted seemed to convey my whole plan to the baristas, so I felt okay going to get in line for the bathroom. What if I’m waiting and the person in the bathroom I’m waiting for is taking so long. The line is building behind me. Finally, they leave the bathroom. What if it’s her leaving the bathroom? Not to say she was taking so long because she was taking a massive dump. That’s not what I was saying. I think she’d actually be putting lipstick on and fixing her hair and that’s why she was taking so long. Maybe someone texted her and she responded while still in the bathroom. That’s probably why she was in there so long. What would I say as she opened the bathroom door with a paper towel so as not to touch the doorknob? I couldn’t say much. The line is so big behind me, I’d feel pressure to go in. I’d get inside and lock the door, then I probably wouldn’t even be able to pee because I just saw her. I’d come out and buy a coffee because I silently promised the baristas I would. I’d still have to pee so bad. I guess I could drive to another Starbucks.
What if I’m mid-bite at a restaurant, eating a new meal that I’m not used to. When you eat stuff you’re used to, you know how the bites are gonna go. You have expectations, you can foresee dilemmas by having water or extra napkins handy. But sometimes when you’re in a new situation (with a new sandwich or something), things don’t go as planned. Stuff falls out of your mouth, sometimes onto your clothes or the table, and what if that happens right when I see her. How will I play that out? Would I just laugh and clean up my mess like a rookie who clearly doesn’t know how to deal with a new type of sandwich? Geez. You can’t blame that kind of thing on the restaurant. No. Also, what if I like the new sandwich? You can’t blame that type of situation on a new sandwich.
What if I decided to take scuba-diving lessons—you know, the ones they do in a swimming pool so you can get the feel for what it’s like to breathe underwater? I signed up without even having an upcoming trip. I’ve been trying to sign up for more things, experience new environments, and be of the world a bit more. Those classes can be exciting even without the trip, right? I’ve also never seen the bottom of a pool that up close. I bet it’s an experience in and of itself. What if I did that, signed up and bought a cool retro bathing suit, like the ones they have out now? Retro stuff seems to be back in all ways, especially bathing suits. So, what if I’m there, in the pool learning to scuba dive, and while I’m getting the hang of it—the whole breathing-underwater thing—I see her. She is at the bottom of the pool, too, and she’s also getting the hang of breathing underwater. She was always good at getting the hang of things. She’d probably have a trip planned, though. Would I make up a whole trip down there? That’s a lot to lie about down there at the bottom of the pool.
What if I saw her while I was making some sort of speech? I was up on a platform talking to an audience about something I was passionate about and she walked in. What if there were hors d’oeuvres in the back of the room and she was hungry? Maybe she was at the event, speaking about something she was passionate about, too. You’d think I would have seen some sort of flyer with both our names on it, or at least be informed of the other speakers so I knew where I stood. What kind of event is this, they don’t even tell you what else is happening? Completely unprofessional. This is the perfect example of why I have to say no more often. Anyway, she was done for the day and before she left she got hungry, so she stumbled into the room where I was giving my speech to see what food was in there. Maybe the room where she gave her passionate speech didn’t have any good food. Only those terrible hors d’oeuvres that make you wish there was no food at all, like rolled-up cold cuts or apple slices that have browned from sitting out too long. What if she walked in right as I was flipping over a piece of paper, so I wasn’t even saying anything particularly good. It would appear like I was standing there, not speaking at all. This speech is great, don’t g
et me wrong, but every once in a while, you have to flip over the piece of paper, or take a breath, and pause before you start to ramp up the passion. So, what if she walked in right when the ramp-up was starting? No one was applauding yet, or tearing up, nothing. What if she walked in and picked up some raw carrots (the fancy purple and yellow ones) and a pigs in a blanket (my room has a solid selection for vegetarians and meat eaters) and then just walked out and didn’t even see it was me in there! I don’t know how I’d continue ramping up if that happened.
What if I was singing karaoke and I saw her? I was up on a little stage, reading the lyrics, and she came into the bar right then. You can’t get down off the stage mid-song when you’re singing karaoke! I’d have to keep going. I don’t think my voice is that good, but if she walked in right then, I would have to really bring it. I’ve never fully been able to “sing from my diaphragm,” but I’d have to for sure in this situation. That would be a big night, and people would probably be blown away at my voice. Who knows what could happen from a night like that. Not to say that singing scouts go to karaoke clubs, but they might go just as patrons. One could be there that night where I’d have to sing my heart out because she was there. A scout could definitely be there and then who knows. Wow. What a night.
What if I decide to get Lasik eye surgery and I’m on my way home and I see her. Or rather the person guiding me home tells me she’s there, on the street. I’m hobbling along, arm in arm with this amazing friend of mine who’s helping me get home from surgery because you need assistance, and there she is. I’m wearing those bug-eye glasses they give you and she’s there. What if she’s there and I can’t even see her? I always thought that when I ran into her, I’d be able to see her. I should have thought this out, but I had a lot on my mind. Lasik is VERY intense. You have to have your eyes open and you see the whole thing—because it’s being done to your eyes. That might sound obvious, but think about it. I guess I could bring that up to her, the eyes-being-open thing. I just find it incredible that they slice your eye like that and you have no choice but to watch the whole thing! She’d probably know all about it already.
What if I took up Rollerblading? I feel like that’s a thing that comes back every few years and what if I decided it’s my year to take up Rollerblading. I would be out, blading, with those kneepads, elbow pads, and the weird, hard hand pads that are supposed to break your fall. I would be picking it up again. I was pretty athletic as a kid, it’s not that surprising that I’d be quick to pick it up again. What if I was blading and I felt it was time to take a risk and go down a steady incline. Everyone knows hills are the hardest and I’m not going to get into Rollerblading and not challenge myself. What would be the point of that? So, what if I’m going down the hill, wind in my face, and I’m actually doing it and what if I see her then, right there on the hill? I’d probably go right past her as I don’t feel comfortable with the back-stopper brake yet, and I’m certainly not going to try and hockey-stop right there in the middle of the steady downward incline. What then? She’d see me go by and think I wasn’t stopping even to say hello. I wouldn’t be able to explain that even though I am athletic, I haven’t really gotten the hang of stopping while going down a steady incline. I couldn’t go into how it’s way harder than it looks, or start talking about how some of the things we did as kids were so much easier because we weren’t really scared of anything. I couldn’t talk about how as adults we are so scared of everything. I couldn’t say any of that. It wouldn’t be good, obviously.
What if I am walking down the street—one of those streets out here that you drive to, just to walk around? There aren’t a lot of those in Los Angeles, because people don’t walk as much, so those streets are rare and hard to park on. So, what if one day I circle around and I get a good spot that I’m pretty excited about. Maybe even overly excited about. A good spot is something that can really change the course of your day. Entire energy patterns can be traced back to good spots out here. So, I’m walking around, browsing the various stores on this street, and I catch myself in the reflection in a store window. I think, Wow, I look pretty good! And I do. I look very good. Effortlessly good. My hair is finally falling in a way I’ve always wanted. I have a style. I feel great, actually. I’m starting to feel good being out here in this new place and today is looking up. I like who I am. I’m walking and living and not thinking about the stressful things I usually think about. And then she’s there, walking on the same sidewalk, doing the same thing. Nothing is going wrong. I am just standing there with her. It’s like I’ve been standing there forever, not saying a word. I look at her, because I can’t do much else. “Hi,” she says.
PALM SPRINGS
I might have hallucinated and caught a glimpse of a sixty-year-old version of myself, swimming laps through a pool of people. I’m not positive, but it’s possible.
It was one of the hottest days of the summer, at least for me. I was only in Palm Springs for one night, but the heat was so jarring, I couldn’t imagine doing anything except going down to the pool. A public pool is a place I’m not usually itching to hang out at alone, as being solo usually means you’re either a creep or asking to be talked to, but it was so disgusting outside I didn’t care. The pool was packed even though it was a weekday, apparently everyone had the same idea. I tried to avoid going into the overly populated pool as long as I could, imagining the number of germs that might be in store, and convincing myself the mere proximity to water, the sight of splashing, would cool me down. But reading my book on a lounge chair under an umbrella was only making me hotter. Touching the fabric of the chair, the towel, wearing any clothing, basically anything at this point was unacceptable except the cool, refreshing water. I’d drink an Emergen-C and pop a B12 vitamin later, but for now, I was going in.
I found a spot next to the wall of the pool and hung off of it, spreading out my arms, people watching. Pockets of friends gathered in circles, drinking and laughing, enjoying the day. Families clustered together, kids played with toys and threw balls back and forth. I watched a couple, two women clearly in love, playing with their small dog. And that’s when I saw it—a woman slowly stepped in and attempted to swim directly through the center of the pool, through all these people. She was probably in her mid-sixties, and wore goggles and a swim cap. She swam lengthwise, back and forth, stopping and restarting each time she swam into someone. If I haven’t explained this in enough detail, I will do so again: It was over one hundred degrees in Palm Springs, in late July, and the Ace Hotel pool was packed with people trying to beat the heat, and then a woman in her sixties started doing laps through the middle of said packed pool. I could not believe what was happening.
I couldn’t stop watching this feat, and I had so many questions. Why would she be attempting this during peak hours at a hotel pool? It seemed insane or useless, she couldn’t swim too far without being interrupted by another person. Was this her daily routine, were we in the middle of her space, and not her trying to fight her way through ours? Was this a dare? Was she completely unaware or had she just stopped caring at all about what anyone thought of her? I was both emboldened and depressed by what I was watching: a simultaneous revolutionary show of autonomy and a delirious detachment from the world.
I felt like I was there to take witness. To see this moment, this woman and her afternoon laps. But no one else at the pool seemed to even notice her, even though she was physically bumping into them. I felt connected to her, felt for her. And that’s when it occurred to me—no one else was even noticing her? No one else seemed to be as enthralled by this wonder woman. Also, no one seemed to notice me, watching them. Holy shit, this sauna-like heat was affecting more than just my sweat glands—was I hallucinating some sort of Christmas Carol situation where I was being presented with another version of myself, my future self?
It’s quite a leap, as I don’t swim laps that much—but maybe I’ll start in my forties when I have access to a pool? Maybe in my sixties I’ll re-create this road trip I�
��m on right now, and this is my last night on that road trip. Has this road trip been so meaningful—so significant that my future self yearns to repeat it, play by play? I guess it’s nice to know I still stay in shape in my sixties.
Let’s just say, for a moment, she is me. I couldn’t really see her face with the goggles and the swim cap covering her/my hair, but let’s just think of her as me. I’m the courageous swimmer daring to do laps in the middle of a chaotic world (pool). If that is me in thirty years, I hope these things are true:
I hope that I’m content, that there isn’t anger within those freestyle strokes.
I hope I’m swimming for pleasure and health and not for some societal norm I’m trying to keep up with like pant size.
I hope my life is full of joy, full of adventure, full of love.
I hope I’m able to share my life with someone, with others.
I hope I’m comfortable in that bathing suit. Good ones are hard to find.
I hope I like myself, my choices, my gut instincts.
I hope I’m a member of the community, and take part in making the world I and others live in, better.
I hope I’m fulfilled creatively.
I hope I still have a voice, a platform, a medium in which to express myself.
I hope I’m fucking a ton of people, or one person, a ton.
I hope I don’t care what other people think of me.
She’s not me, I’m not her. We will go our separate ways and I will probably never encounter her again, but the way in which I see myself in her, or in regard to her, intrigues me. I’ve been driving across the country by myself trying to figure out who exactly I might be and what I really want, and then this woman just swims right through the fucking pool. Maybe we never fully figure it out. Maybe it keeps changing. Sometimes we’re the swimmer, sometimes the one being swam into. Sometimes we’re the one watching the whole thing in awe and confusion. Sometimes you have to get out of the pool because you’re not wearing enough sunscreen and you just want to sit in your air-conditioned hotel room, watch terrible DIY renovations on TV, and order room service.
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