My anxiety was high. Is it age? Little things set me off now. Stupid things. All I need is an appointment somewhere or two tasks to do in a single day. But yesterday is done now, and it was fine, and in the end, I was a little happy.
Surprised?
I had an ostensibly busy day ahead of me. I needed to pick up a prescription--if the doctor and the pharmacist were communicating properly. Most of you know what a shit-show that can be. Tennessee was perhaps coming over to work on the plumbing though I hadn't spoken to him for days, and if we finished in time, I was going to meet the factory gang in Factory City for drinks.
I got a late start. Nothing new there. But I was being productive. You know that Julie Blackmon video I posted a few days back? I've been looking at her work, studying the images, and they have given me some ideas. I needed to be able to make multiple exposures without touching the camera to do what I had in mind, and that was requiring some software updates in-camera and a new app to run it. It took me a good long while to figure it all out and then get it done, but finally it worked. By then, however, the morning was gone. I needed to get a long walk in. T called. He was just coming from a weekend at his beach house and was going to go back in a day. He needed to do some work in one of his rental condos here in town.
"Do you want me to help?"
"I can't get into the condo until five."
"Oh. I was hoping to be up in Factory City by then. Did you want to try the plumbing today?"
"If you want. I bought the tools I'll need. I took the ones I had up to the mountains to finish up the inside of the houses."
"It doesn't matter. It is not imperative we do it today."
"I'll be back next week."
"O.K. No pressure. We can try it then if you have time."
Okey dokey. The pressure valve released a little time-wise. I'd be able to get to Factory City after all.
The afternoon was moving on. I slipped on my walking shoes and headed out for a not so long walk after all.
I had not eaten, so when I got back from the walk, I made a salad topped with last night's chicken. The phone rang. It was the tenant. I answered knowing it would be something.
"Are you home?"
Pause: "Yes."
"Can you do me a favor?"
I ate my salad before doing the favor which took up more of my day. Then I dropped into the tub for a soak. Shower. Do special things to my hair. I wanted to look pretty. Ho! A quick look at the clock. Holy smokes! I still needed to drive to the next town to get my script. I wouldn't have time to do that, get back, and catch the train, so. . . I decided to drive.
Mistake. Texts were coming in. "Are you coming?" I was stuck in road construction traffic. When I got to the pharmacy, of course I had to wait. My prescription wasn't ready. Time was ticking, but what could I do? I chilled.
"Serenity now!"
I hardly leave my village anymore and rarely drive more than five miles in any one direction. Going to see my mother is the farthest I usually go. I'd forgotten what driving in traffic felt like. Put a thousand cars on the road. How many of them are driven by a) morons b) druggies c) people texting d) all of the above?
That's right kids. . . the answer is D!
I took the route that went by the factory. I'd forgotten that my connection to Factory City was so long and deep. It began when I was in high school and was living in my car until I moved in with my father who had rented an old duplex there. The place was all country then. Real country with big golden fields, foxes, and deer. The town had one store and a post office. I drove by the place we used to live, but it was gone. The big duplex, the big lot, and the house of the people who owned it all had been torn down. Terribly ugly houses had been built in their places. Now Factory City is a thriving mini-metropolis. I worked at the factory through the transformation, even documenting it in the early stages. In my last years there, I met Ili. I could feel her as I drove by the factory where the day had been spent in the annual conferences. I could hear her saying to whomever was her pal now, "Let's get a drink at. . ." someplace where "the other" people wouldn't be. Yea. . . I remembered sneaking away with her like that.
I mean to say that drive was full of sentimental nostalgia.
I was the last to arrive at the bar, and when I walked in, the table turned and stood and cheered. No. . . I'm not kidding. And I am not so very good at handling things like that. Yea, to heck with you. . . it is true. I'm not good with attention. So the hard journey began, going from place to place to make sure I chatted with everyone. But before I could, I was embraced from behind and kissed on my neck by a female. She held me for a long time.
"Who is it?" I queried. "I don't even know who is hugging me."
She let me go then hugged and kissed me belly to belly. Ah, man. . . now this was the thing. She was a pretty woman and my very first model when I was making those old Polaroid things before I had the studio. She came to the house and we set up a scene. When I got the studio, she was the first woman I photographed there, too, back when I was doing the old faux-anthropological postcard studies. We'd always been friendly and over the years, always on the same side of factory politics. I've been told that since I left she likes to say she learned everything from me. I have never believed that, have never trusted the source of that information, but it is true that she put my photo on the factory union webpage for recruitment, so. . . .
Apparently, she likes me.
The next person to hug me was my replacement as floor boss twice removed. Then another of the women I have worked with. And then, after all, the woman who kinda sorta asked me to come. Nice hug. Big tender hug.
"My god. . . that's the most intimate contact I've had with female flesh for quite awhile. I'm in heaven."
Talk, talk, talk. Beer and talk. I was sitting with my replacement and "the woman who" when I my replacement asked me, "I was thinking of setting up a scholarship in your name. Would that be o.k. with you?"
WTF?
"If it's o.k., I am going to ask the department about it and ask them to donate. We need to have (blank) dollars to get it started with the foundation."
I was flabbergasted and a little embarrassed. I stumbled for something to say at first.
"O.K. It's fine. But I'll put in the seed money and maybe you can get enough to match it. I mean. . . as long as it is The C.S. Scholarship for Young and Beautiful Women. To win, there will be a question answer portion and then the bathing suit competition."
I can't help myself. The table roared.
"Of course!"
"You should feel honored," said the woman who almost.
"I am. I'm putting up the money."
Hugs and liquor and flattery had just moved me to donate enough money to buy the printer I need. It was an expensive trip. But yea. . . I do feel honored.
I talked literature with some of my old crew and asked the "gals" if they were in the P. Diddy videos.
"You know I would have told you if I was," said my replacement.
The afternoon wore on and goodbyes were being said. I did another round of hugs. I had noticed that a tall, bald fellow I'd never seen had sidled up to the woman who and was leaning into her as he stood. Certainly they must be something, so, just for fun, I went over to her and raised her arm in the air and stuck my nose in her armpit, stood back and wrinkled my nose, and said, "Yea. . . it is hot in here." I grinned at what could be her new boy. His grin was not quite a grin back.
T told me earlier to call him when I was coming home. He wanted to have dinner. It was arranged. We'd meet at the good Italian place at seven.
I got there first. The bar was fairly open and I sat down. A woman in a black dress brought her drink and purse over from a table and sat next to me. She was pretty. Hmm. T's type, I texted him. She looked straight ahead and not toward me. In a few minutes, I saw T walking up the sidewalk through the open windows to the outside bar. I tilted my head barely toward the woman in black. He grinned.
Talk talk talk. The mean barmaid was working, the one who never smiles at me. She doesn't smile at T, either.
"I wish the other one was working," he said.
We had drinks. It was time to order dinner. The barmaid brought a Caesar's Salad to the lady in black. I turned.
"That looks good."
She turned and smiled. "It is. I'm trying to watch my weight, so. . . ."
"You'll disappear if you lose any more weight," I said.
"Well. . . I got extra dressing."
"That's what I'm going to have," I said, "with chicken. Now I know that is a blasphemy. Anthony Bourdain said so. But. . . ."
"Oh, no. . . really? That's silly."
"My name is. . . " and I introduced T. The lady was nice and we chatted through dinner. I was feeling good. Maybe I was getting my chops again. Maybe I was regaining some mojo. Man, I've missed my mojo.
When she finished her meal, she handed over her card to pay.
"It was nice meeting you, Kerri," I said.
"Yes. . . it was a pleasure."
"She was a nice woman," I said to T. He agreed. And for once, he hadn't said anything bad about me.
I should go back and check yesterday's horoscope.
When we'd paid up and walked into the street, we were admiring an old, fire engine red Peugeot parked on at a side street curb. A fellow came up to admire it with us. He was obviously drunk or smoking crack. He talked in a loud voice meant to address a theater. He was talking bullshit, explaining the car, how it was made, all just loud nonsense. T and I laughed and went along with it. This went on for several minutes before he said, "Hey fellas. . . can you help me out?" His black face was covered in sweat. Neither of us was carrying cash.
"I can do Apple Pay," I said. The animation fell from his face. For a minute.
I joked, "You weren't in any of those P. Diddy videos, were you?"
He started up again.
"Yea man, I was behind her and she looked and said I got a lizard behind me. That man just turned into a lizard."
We laughed, so he said it again, louder this time, more animated. He was acting it out now in the center of the carless Tuesday night street. Diners leaving the many restaurants lining it were giving him a wide berth.
"You know a lizard has two peckers, right?"
"One for the pink and one for the stink?"
"No. . . I'm not kidding. Trust me. . . I'm a zoologist almost."
Finally, he'd worn himself out and T and I told him goodbye. He wandered off to find some other victims. I looked at T and the laughter in his eyes.
When I got home, I sent him proof about the lizard.
I decided to turn on the t.v. and have the evening whiskey. I'd really not had much to drink all night. I watched one episode of a show I won't confess here and now, and then another. It was after midnight, late for me, but I really wasn't sleepy. I thought about the hugs and the scholarship and the good conversation, then I thought about the woman in black and my mojo and then the last episode in the street with the guy who needed drugs. I'd had a good day, a fine time. All my anxiety was gone.
For the moment anyway. There will always be another source. It is inevitable. But for now. . . oh, hell. . . let's just put on some music and watch the gif women dance before our eyes. I'm feeling a little Cole Porter-ish.
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