She sits there in her big red plastic chair. Her hair dyed a paler version of the same red. Brown roots show through her matted hair. Her surroundings go unnoticed as she sips her coffee.
The red walls of the coffee shop taunt her. Excitement. Desire. Love. Reminders of what used to be.
Twirling her green scarf in one hand and clutching her romance novel in the next, her tired hands show a life lived in years far too past. Page by page she travels back to her youth when her hair color matched her current persona . Purple one month. Orange the next. This month red. But those days have faded. Her thin hair now lacks the vibrance it once had, greys and whites now reflect the same dullness she feels inside.
Her white crumpled napkin sits in wait until it is held again. Tossed aside quickly, it knows the person that clutches it has known adventure, pain, romance, passion. Her wrinkles form telling lines of a life well lived. But her secrets will never be told.
She slowly lifts her coffee cup, throws her green scarf back around her neck and heads out the door. I hope today she'll find the courage to start her adventures again; dye her hair green, and go. But she'll be back next week, she's always back. Same time, same chair, ready to return to life only through her books.
I don't think any of us really expected the events of this past weekend. But as we curled up on our bed at the Club Saturday night ... some of us in our bathing suits, some in white cotton robes and others in our pj's ... we couldn't help but laugh til we cried over the experiences we shared. Some of those moments will be shared, some will stay between us. It started Friday night with a sushi dinner compliments of Sushi Rock in Nob Hill with Gina and Sarah. Aside from our three rolls we began our evening with a few sake bombs. Tipping our glasses just slightly, we poured in the ice cold Sapporo and carefully poured the hot sake into our little white shot glasses. Onnne....twoooo....THREE! *clink!* We drank our first sake bomb of the night, well two of us did, Sarah enjoyed sipping hers. After a few more bites of sushi and one more bomb we headed back to my apt to get ready for the night.
Our heels clicked down the sidewalk on our way to the Ambassador. A few minutes into the night we ended up meeting the owner. Three shots compliments of the house. We gladly accepted and followed him to our own private booth where champagne was brought out just for us. Adam was charming and personable. Getting to know him and the rest of the bartenders was the highlight of our night. As the last customer exited the bar we hung around chatting with our new friends and exchanged business cards. (As all grown-ups do). A successful night of free drinks for sure.
We made our way back home and awoke the next morning to get ready for Napa. Cameras, dresses, toothbrushes; all was packed and we headed out the door. Arriving at our first Winery (Andretti), we praised the day for being clear and sunny. We met up with Anneliese and entered into the Winery to take our first tastings of wine. Compliments of the Winery, we enjoyed four gift bags and samples of any wines we wanted. Outside we took photos and relaxed with red wine in hand.
Flora Springs was our next winery. Ready for whatever surprises they had for us we met Jason who showed us to our own private wine tasting room. A long table set with wine glasses and orchids awaited us. A character to the core, Jason wooed us with his quirky descriptions of the wines and jokes that we couldn't compete with. "REDS!" we proclaimed, we had had enough whites for the day already. Jason brought in a variety of wines complimented by cashews and crackers. His coworker also enjoyed our company as he told stories of the books he was hoping to write. Unfortunately we saw all too fast that his fictions were not so fiction afterall. We loved him just as well though with his "secret handshake" with Jason that included a gumball machine created by their hands.
Not wanting to leave but quickly realizing much wine and little food was about to encourage the proverbial wine headache we headed next door. Dean and Delucca called to us as we grabbed sweets, cheese and delicious sweet bread.
Peju was next and although beautiful on the outside, they were rude and we didn't enjoy the wine. They won't get a shout-out.
Finally we ended up back at the Silverado Country Club to unload, change and prepare for dinner. Dad and Chef Cuco greeted us in the restaurant and we were prepared for whatever Chef had for us. Chef loves to spoil when we come by, we are his only guests when we are there. Forfeiting the menu choices we couldn't wait to see what he'd prepare. Following was an eight course meal fit for royalty. Appetizer platters, different proteins mixed with various wines, palette cleansing sorbets and chocolate souffle cakes were presented throughout the evening. We were Queens for a night and we loved it.
Back in our room we found ourselves on the bed like giggling school girls talking of past boyfriends, new boyfriends, husbands and everything that consumes the mind of 25 year olds. Sarah took abstract art photos and we held our stomachs as the jokes kept coming. Finally tired we slept in our beds soundly dreaming of the next day. Breakfast was buffet style with special Belgian waffles, and "on-the-house" by the manager. Treated again like celebrities we finished our meal and took the golf carts out around the course before heading home for the day.
We made some of the best memories over the weekend and shared stories that we never knew about each other. But it's the moments you aren't reading about that are the moments we'll remember most from this weekend. Too scandalous to post, these will be the ones to remember.
Sometimes on long drives I like to imagine I’m another person. In another state. In another country. Another time.
Today I’d close my eyes and pretend the person sitting next to me is my husband. We’re headed to Napa for the weekend. But the destination doesn’t really matter. I’d go anywhere with him. I pretend to sleep (as I usually do on these trips). He knows this but plays along. In this moment my thoughts wander to the first time we met.
It was January. I was in my black jacket and suede brown boots that hugged my blue jeans. My chipped black nail polish had been stuck on my fingernails for weeks now. But I didn’t mind, somehow it made me feel more interesting. I was “much too busy to bother with such little things like nail polish,” I’d tell myself.
Grabbing my sunglasses and keys I headed to Nook where I always went to read on Wednesdays . Black coffee, cream and two splendas. Fumbling through my purse I clutched my book, The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath, and sat down in my usual brown leather chair. The chair was made for me. The tears and tattered cushions made me want to love it more to make up for the lack of care it had been given over the years. The familiarity of that spot comforted me like listening to City and Colour on a rainy day.
He walked in just about the same time I did. We knew the same people, ran in the same circles. But we had never really known each other. Today he innocently joked with me and I shyly laughed. I tried to look much more confident than I was. But my flushed cheeks gave me away.
He liked that I laughed at him. He likes to make people laugh. I liked that about him. We spoke the rest of the day discussing our favorite books, music, and films. I drank two cups of coffee that afternoon. His blue eyes were bright, full of life. He was older than me and yet his enthusiasm made him appear much younger. It started so simply, but in that moment I knew I was already falling for him.
That was ten years ago. In all this time I never stopped loving him. I never stopped laughing at his jokes that only I truly understood. His brown hair swept over his eyebrows and framed his face over the small wrinkles near his eyes. Looking up at him he sweeps his hand across my cheek and I pull my knees in closer to my chest. We’re almost to Napa now.
........
When I open my eyes again, I look beside me and realize we’re almost home. Not to Napa but to San Francisco where I live, alone, in my studio. I zip up my worn out sweatshirt and pull back my hair as I gather my things. We pull up to my apartment and I shut the door behind me as I leave the blue Honda. A small smile forms as I unlock my apartment; I enjoy my daydreams.
Sometimes on long drives I like to imagine I’m another person. In another state. In another country. Another time.
