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Paradise Is Where You Find It
By
Camincha
While he searched her face and looked deep into her eyes his voice turned stern, What were you doing in this rough neighborhood?
I can't tell him I was at a poetry reading... he'll never believe me. It sounded unreal even to her.
Poetry? I came to visit a friend. Did that sound phony! I don't believe it. I don't believe I said that. Returning his look, she could see that he didn't believe it either.
HAD COME OUT of Above Paradise at 11th and Folsom – the second time she had gone there – only a few minutes after she read poems she had selected to fit the slant the reading had taken. Poems with a dramatic feeling, playful, with a sensuous tone:
...seductive perfume, tingling feeling/the lipstick on her lips took a force of its own/went 'round the Café kissing the strange men/when she protested, the lipstick /on her lips just pushed onward...
It had been rewarded with sonorous applause. She was delighted. Had been concerned 'cause the Club packed a rough crowd. Hard to please. So happy with herself was inspired to go home and get some more work done. Usually she stayed till the end to hear the others. But only 9:15 and she had wanted to leave, 'cause she didn't know anyone in the crowd, none of her friends had come so she thought, if I get home early, I can get some more time on the computer, copy another poem, edit another story.
She walked to her car, half a block full of shadows lurking in the warehouse's doorways. Otherwise the streets were empty.
There it is, my trusted Rolls Royce. It looks like a 71 Chevy Nova 'cause is undercover. Only way to go in San Francisco.
Got in. Safety belt. Key in ignition. Turned key. Nothing. Nothing. OK ONE MORE TIME.
NOTHINGGGGGG. Along the street the shadows were still huddling in the entrance to warehouses. Suddenly laughter, voices in the street, stirred them up, a black guy stepped out from the right side of Paradise forcing a couple to pay attention to him by circling them, flapping his arms, prancing on one foot while shouting obscenities.
And this is Sunday niqht, who can I call in Pacifica that won't be totally freaked out by the thought of driving to THE CITY? And wait till I telI them WHERE they have to come pick me up. And people go to bed early on Sunday night....
Decided best thing to do was to get as close as possible to home. So she had to find BART. BART-Daly City, make phone calls from there.
Get home, get home. Monday morning comes too early. Have to Ieave my car, will it be here tomorrow? I just washed it, waxed it, it's clean and shiny. I do have to Ieave it. WilI it be here tomorrow? I have new tires now. This year I bought it a new carburator, radiator It's all the wheels I got. How best to get to BART? Walk down to 16th St. Great! I'm wearing tights and Bob's shirt. I do wish he didn't travel so much. At this very moment he is at the other end of the world. Someone in Pacifica is what I need tonight. Can't walk from 11th to 16th in this....
Searched the car, her overcoat was neatly folded in the back seat. Great! She puts it on, places bag full of her chapbooks for sale on the floor so they won't attract attention. Grabbed her bag and started down the street. Heavy, she felt so heavy.
I just have to get home. As close to home as possible. Will take those dark blocks one at a time. The black man is gone. I'll ignore all shadows. Will get back to the car tomorrow. 12th? No. 13th and Folsom? No. Can't even see Mission from here, too many alleys in between. Darn, its dark. I'll keep my eyes just ahead. Not looking to the sides, not looking ahead more than one step at a time.
14th and Folsom, Mission. I can see Mission now. Turned right. Suddenly more light than she'd seen so far. Floodlights clear as day. As she walked on, barking dogs run up to the chain linked fence that encircled a working yard. A man atop a steam shovel waved at her. She waved back. The man smiled, she smiled. Didn't slow down. But out of the corner of her eyes on the wall, she read AUTO... AUTOMO...AUTOMOTIVE REPAIRS!
In one movement she turned and walked back. Motioned to the man that she needed to talk to him. Thoughts tumbled in her feverish, aching head. Having stopped, she realized, yes, she was hurting really bad.
The man turned off the machine and hushed the dogs. They were face to face with the fence between them. She heard herself say: I have my car parked at 11th & Folsom. I tried to start it. Nothing. Once before when that happened it was dirty battery cables. So I looked. My battery has been stolen.
His attention was complete. But when he spoke his voice was stern, What were you doing in this rough neighborhood? He listened to her explanation, lowering his eyes and pursing his lips. That happens a lot around here, he said. We keep a battery just to loan to customers. But it's on loan now.
Don't you have a new one I can buy? I'll buy it from you.
Let me see. He was all business now.
As he walked away, her fever rose, her aches sharpened, I don't have my checkbook. I have maybe...ten in my bag. He's going to think I'm trying to take him.
He was back carrying a battery, We have this one. We don't have the sixty dollar ones. This one is eighty-five ninety-five.
She told him, I have ten in my bag.
Then it happened. She heard an Angel speak. Looking her straight in the eye he said, take it. If you want to you can buy it or you can return it tomorrow.
She felt lightheaded. The words fell, rushed out of her mouth, Thank-you. Thank-you! I can give you the ten, and my business card, it has my name, address, phone number. I can give you my driver's license number. She was all hands, searching through her bag, but couldn't even find her cards.
No. The Angel answered. And with his right hand made a movement to brush away her offer and continued, if I'm going to do you the favor, I'm going to do it all the way. I don't even want to know your name. Did they cut the cables?
I don't know.
He gathered his tools and they jumped in his pick-up.
10:20 SAID HER WATCH when she checked it, as she took the exit to Hwy I leaving 280 behind. Her precious
Rolls Royce driving like he was brand new.
Copyright © 2007 Camincha
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