Center of Gravity

My weekend began with sushi for one. Booths feel a lot bigger when it’s just you in there. It’s like a private observatory, the details of the surrounding world revealing themselves in sharp relief. I like to listen when I’m alone. For all the people I pass by daily, it feels like a superpower when I get the chance to actually pay attention. I savored every bite of my meal, and some time later, my server brought me the check. She had flared jeans, a tattoo, and a face like the moon. I fantasized about asking her out, but decided the thought was as much satisfaction as I needed; I thanked her and left. Outside, the red neon sign buzzed to life, reflecting on the rainy pavement.

If I had taken a picture: The seat across me needs to be reupholstered. On the table, a steaming heap of Yakisoba noodles and a half-finished roll of sushi. There is too much wasabi.

I woke up the next morning to an unexpected but welcome chill. On paper, 18 miles is a really heroic distance to cover, but in reality, it’s mostly just obnoxious. This run marked the beginning of my training taper, and I was really glad to pass the peak. For long runs, my favorite part is the fuel. When I’m almost at my limit, I like the immediate switch from exhaustion to energy; the jumper cable of sugar hitting my bloodstream. Plus, it’s just fun to eat candy. It rained for most of the run, but the sun was out by the time I got home.

If I had taken a picture: a wet and sticky ziploc of jellybeans.

After, I met a friend for brunch in Ventura; I ordered a stack of pancakes and an omelette. We talked about the job hunt, acid reflux, and the charm of repeated failure. After eating, she gifted me a project she had been working on, a beautiful cyanotype of her orange tree¹. She was frustrated with how it came out, but I couldn’t be happier to frame and hang it. Then, we got dirty chais at a local cafe and explored the area, strolling and pointing at cool plants. We were talking about her collection of license plates, and right as we were talking about how rare North Dakota plates were, the universe delivered.

If I had taken a picture: Our chais posed by the very first North Dakota license plate we had ever seen (censored, of course).

The clouds were coming back as I drove to LA to meet another friend. We exchanged birthday gifts; we had planned to celebrate earlier that month, but the fires fucked up our plans. Honestly, though, I was happy that we got a chance to hang out just the two of us. We went to see One of Them Days with SZA and Keke Palmer (four stars, highly recommend) and then enjoyed a dinner at Annapurna, our favorite Indian place. It’s been a mainstay throughout our friendship, we know the menu well. Eating with her is almost like eating alone. It was really cold when we walked back to our cars.

If I had taken a picture: She’s sipping a mango lassi. The dosa is the size of a rocket launcher, the gobi manchurian is sweeter than it looks.

I drove home after, but I probably shouldn’t have taken that risk. The sky was pissed, rain coming down like it had something to prove. After all the fires, I guess it did. When I’m driving in conditions like that, I imagine all the ways I could crash, which prompts me to make peace with dying. I think – if it ended now, did I do enough? Could I be happy with the way things went? Did I have a good day? The entire trip becomes a limbo, a space between accepting oblivion and hoping that it’ll all be okay. Hoping that, in just an hour, I’ll be brushing my teeth, hugging my cat, and falling asleep.

I wouldn’t have dared to take a picture, even if I had thought to.

I got home late, and as fortune would have it, I did brush my teeth and I did hug my cat, but I was too tired to sleep. I laid awake for a long time, my breathing the only sound, the ground beneath me a reassurance. Slowly, I came back to myself. Outside, the rain stopped.

1. Artist credit: i.e. oranges, Mariana Rodela ↩︎