flashes

whitaker met me at 12 on the dot at my hotel. we embraced and walked down to union square.

well, this is it, i said. i wasn't really sure what to show him. i'd only been here a week myself. we stood in the sunlight staring up at it, eyes burning warmly. the macy's stood there like an old warehouse, decrepit, filled with merchandise.

we took a walk up van ness towards the park. i wanted to show him the golden gate the way i'd first seen it, red and stout in the hazy afternoon.

it was windy up on the top of the hill. a couple rolled in the grass, kissing, yards away. a dog ran towards us then turned suddenly hearing his owner call.

we talked about our families, our jobs. there were fair amounts of silence. we walked down towards the marina district.

i explained how all these buildings crumbled in the quake. the gas mains all caught fire and that idyllic october afternoon remained cool and sunny, with the entire district in ruins and aflame.

of course, i didn't know all this from experience. i was eight and on the opposite coast. but i've seen the video.

we walked down chestnut and had a chat with an employee of the computer store. there was no rush to do anything, one of those days where life is an empty, dusty road unfurled in front of you.

stopped in a bar crowded with people our age, all inside in the shadows drinking cheap bottles of beer instead of being out in the sunlight. they were all a bit preppy and we kind of scoffed inside but tried to pick up a couple girls from marin anyways.

by the time we got fed up and left it was dark.

makes sense, i thought. we'd been at it forever.

rode back into downtown and slept the sleep of anticipation.

what have you done

we're on the sofa. none of it makes sense. you lean back into me every few minutes and i run a hand through your long hair. the sun shines in, your father sleeps on an armchair in the next room.

we walked over from the grocery store, the leaves falling in gusts across the windshields of the passing cars. i stopped at the machine to get a coca cola and when i turned away holding my change you were standing there on the curb, holding the paper shopping bag and smiling into the distance.

we passed the newspaper box on at walker avenue. that missing girl's face still peered out from the front page. it reminded me of the chill of evening, the white glow of the streetlights on grass in the alley, the dark cover of trees at midnight. it's something sinister. i'd rather be here in the warm sunlight with you, where everything is visible.

we passed the large field by the elementary school. a police cruiser turned the corner slowly, maybe eyeing the group of black children walking towards market street with their basketball. the glint off the windshield shone into my eye and i slowed up for a second. as the brightness left i looked at you walking a few steps ahead, lined in a golden glow, your hair in the light breeze. i jogged for a second to catch up, taking the shopping bag from you.

we set the bag on the sidewalk and popped the coke bottles open, walking slowly into the tall grass to have a smoke. you worried about the bugs biting your legs but i lifted your chin slightly, your eyes to mine and then looked beyond you, up, to the puffy white clouds passing slowly against the bright blue infinity.

we stood side by side, smoking, a car here and there once every few minutes, driving along as slow as the clouds above.

when we sat down the living room was draped in shadows. i said, 'let's get some light in here' and we opened the dusty curtains. i could see tree tops above the neighbor's house. i could hear a hi-fi stereo faintly in the distance, maybe even the splash of a pool from a nearby backyard.

now we sit here and every once in a while you lean back against me and i slowly sweep a hand through your long hair. then you lean forward and i wait for it to happen again. it really gives me a kick. maybe i'll time it, to see if there's a pattern, just for fun.

on the television we watch the radar screen. a giant blotch of green and yellow rain is heading towards our city. you lean back as the sun dances across the carpet.

seventeen seconds.