Page 24 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“The long way?”

“A bus to Lincoln Park. A ride up Lakeshore Drive. An El transfer to the west. I don’t know. Something like that.”

“That’s ambitious,” Nora says with her signature hint of condescension, although she’s not wrong. “Keep your location on and don’t forget hand sanitizer.”

Back in the coach house, I set my coffee mug down on the coaster atop the nightstand. Next to that are my two crystals from Yasmin. I put them there so I wouldn’t lose them as I unpacked. I take a seat on the bed and pick up the two quartzes and think of the world I left behind, 2,500 miles away. Specifically, I think about the pace of life there—no one “maintenance stains” their floors there, or comments about what time you wake up. No one wears designer cashmere turtlenecks that engulf your face—in fact, no one wears cashmere anything. People’s couches aren’t the size of their entire apartments. And no one catches trains to Rogers Park, they ride skateboards to the beach.

I miss watching Brody surf. I miss Yasmin arriving ridiculously early to class and surprising me with a café con (oat) leche. I think about how hard it is to find a decent fish taco or a place that’ll serve a Cali burrito (seriously, people—it’s just adding a handful of French fries, that’s it!) around here. And for whatever reason, right now, I mostly miss Gerda. Cell phone-less Gerda. How I’d love to shoot her a text and ask her if pickleball at Oceanhurst is everything she hoped it would be.

I look back on all that, and I can’t help but feel a heavy sense of sadness. It was okay to be a lost soul there. Here, not so much. Which reminds me of the reason I left home in the first place.

Just then, a cawing crow on a powerline that’s eye level with my bedroom snaps me out of my funk and captures my attention. Is this the Chicago version of Walter? The bird flies over to a branch on a nearby tree that’s just started to change from green to orange in a few spots.

As much as I miss the ocean and endless supply of vitamin D, there’s no autumn in Southern California, which just so happens to be my favorite season. I love the first time you step outside when it’s not cold yet but you can feel that fall is nipping at the heels of summer. Then, a few weeks later, the ground gets covered with a layer of colorful leaves and a smell of crisp air fills your nostrils. It becomes “light jacket” weather and time to peruse the candy aisle for bags of miniatures versions of your childhood favorites. It’s spooky décor and sweatshirt season.

And it’s all over before you know it if you don’t take a moment to go out of your way to step on that slightly crunchy-looking leaf.

Being present was something many yoga instructors at Joe n’ Flow preached and it’s something I want to practice now, no matter how out of place I feel. So, in true “sure, why not?” fashion I grab the rose quartz—this was the healing one, right?—and I put it in my palm. I close my eyes and I think about the things I want:

I want to find a greater sense of purpose.

I want to feel recharged; excited for the day.

I want to discover who I am.

Just then, a text from Nora lights up my phone.

Before you leave, can you pop back over really quick? There’s a Lego in the toilet.

Okay, new plan, I tell myself as I set my phone down with a queasy stomach. I’m going to revise my asks of the crystals; those were a little lofty for a first timer. So instead, I decide to get simple and specific with just one “intention”—I think that’s the word Yas used, right?

I’ve never been a money-motivated person, but financial wherewithal is the key to getting out of this never-ending loop of watching kids who enjoy dunking their toys in toilet water. It’s the key to getting back to Ocean Beach. After all, this is only temporary. It may not feel like it, but as long as I keep reminding myself that, keep throwing it out in the universe, it’ll happen for me. It’s got to.

I close my eyes, squeeze the crystal as tight as I can, and try again with the lowest hanging fruit of them all:

I want some cash-flow.

At that, I stuff the crystal into my sports bra like Yasmin instructed and cross my fingers that Nora has a pair of thick rubber gloves waiting for me on her side of the property.

8

Chapter Eight

As I head east on Wellington, a city bus approaches a nearby stop and suddenly I’m reminded just how much further there is to go before I reach Lincoln Park. I raise my hand to the driver and hurry my pace to reach the door he opens especially for me.

“How much is the fare these days?” I ask like a total fledgling.

“Two dollars and twenty-five cents.”

I reach into my crossbody purse and attempt to load three crusty dollar bills into the fare reader machine.

“Let me help you with that. You gotta do them one at a time.”

I hand him the money and when our palms connect, a quick vision of this bus puttering out flashes into my brain.

“Hell, I can’t get this damn thing to work either,” he says, giving it a smack. “Don’t worry about the fare, just hop on board,” he says, handing me back my bills.

“Actually, I’m going to walk,” I reply as I carefully grab the money with just my fingertips. “Have a good one.”

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