Long Beach

A distinct smell greeted me Thursday morning as I awoke on my sister's carpeted floor. Long Beach.... The delicate smell of ocean water consistently drifting over the squished houses and apartment complexes. All day I sat on the floor, now holding my niece, now writing letters, now playing with the cat, now simply enjoying the breeze. But as the day wore on, the less I could stand simply sitting there doing nothing. It was as if the wind was asking me to come out and play - to come out and explore as he does each day.

And so this evening I walk east, away from the setting sun. He gently blows the small whisps of hair out of my face, curling it ever so slightly. I stop to smell some small white flowers that grace a mission style house.

I continue to walk, met regularly with the pattern of white, pink and yellow flowers.
I stop in front a plain house, having nothing to say about it except for the distinct foliage that flowers the north side of the house. Bright hues of pink, red, yellow and apricot roses catch my eye. But there is one flower that makes me stop in my tracks and simply wonder. Amongst the bright cheery colors of summer and life is a small cactus-like flower whose color is foreign. It is a purple flower, yet not a lavender purple, or even an Eggplant purple - no it is but one shade lighter than black. It sticks out like the black sheep among a fold of pure white, innocent ones. Seeing it reminds me of the death that comes to us every year, of Ash Wednesday before easter, of Good Friday before the Resurrection.

But I must leave off my musings, for at the end of the walk stands a single solitary form. A middle-aged man is walking my way and I must not be idle about someone else’s house. His bare feet make gentle innocent chatter with the sun-warmed concrete. I must fight to hold in the laughter. “Here is a man” I thought to myself, “that probably keeps a very respectable job with a very quiet and respectable family, judging from the houses on the block, and he has the courage to walk down the side walk in a T-shirt and gym shorts - not afraid of what the neighbors and strangers think.” My joy and admiration for this complete stranger makes me want to skip past him, laughing.

A feeble smile starts to break from his face as we come closer to each other. As we pass, we exchange a nervous “hello” and “good evening.” (Now that we have passed, I wonder why it is so hard for me to conjure up these feelings of freedom and joy when I am with those who are so close to me. Why is it so easy to be fearless with strangers)?

I skip across the road and turn down ‘the street where they live.’ A very familiar smell tickles my nose as I pass one of the more run down houses, and I nearly burst out laughing as an image passes through my mind. An image of someone very close to me smoking a honey-coated pipe - discussing theology over scotch and tobacco in a perfect stranger’s house. It is a house whose floors are covered in the most revolting 70’s green shag carpet - A house darkened by cheep venetian blind, bathed in the smell of tobacco smoke and where Bud Light cans are hidden like Easter-eggs amongst the grass-like carpet and furniture.

I quell my fancies once again as I approach a man, shirtless and heavily bearded, watering his small plot of earth. As I approach the small mound upon which he stands as ruler, I could not get out any intelligent verbiage so I simply smiled at him, communicating with my eyes that I wished him as good an evening as I had. Though his beard and long white hair protected his face, I detected as I passed by, a small chuckle breaking through his weathered and time worn face.

I have arrived back at the front door. I sigh as my adventures for the evening have ended and I reach out for the button on the elevator. But anyone who was watching my next actions might have thought I touched a snake or heavily electrified piece of metal. I turned away from the elevator just as the heavy doors were sluggishly opening. I turned the corner and started bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I had too much energy now to idly ride the elevator to my final destination.

As I reached the front door, the breeze rushed past me, kissing my cheek as if to say goodbye. I turned and faced the god of wind as if to tell him not to utter such sounds, but perhaps he was only saying “until next time” - perhaps he will call me away tomorrow too. It was not so, though. For thus ends my adventures in Long Beach.