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April 8,
2001
We decide today to go down to
Santa Monica pier and drink Coronas at that restaurant at the end and
watch the sun set.
And I tell him how bad my day
was, how I blew the audition, and the hairdresser didn't give me the cut
I wanted, and I've gained three pounds this week, and he's just looking
at me and I stop in the middle, suddenly feeling very stupid. Is
this my life? A blown audition is the most important thing that I
can talk about that day?
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"What's wrong?" He asks me.
Of course, I can't say anything. Nothing
like explaining to someone you've been dating for two weeks how
petty you think you are to make you feel even more petty.
"Nothing," I say. And smile again, but the
insides still aren't matching the outsides. This has been
a miserable day. A truly miserable day. And now the
sun is starting to go down, and there's a crowd of people in
front so we're REALLY not gonna be able to see anything.
"Let's go somewhere else," he says. Next
thing I know, we're walking back down the pier.
"We've got plenty of time," he says. And I
believe him, even though the light's starting to turn that
dangerous I'm-setting-and-you're-missing-it-orange. "I know
a good place. Not far," he says, "We can make
it. We've got all the time in the world." And I
believe him. It's easy to believe him. I'm stupid
and pathetic. He knows a good place that's not too far.
I realize he's got my hand. I'm following him. He's
in control. And I'm thinking how nice it is for someone
else to take my hand and to lead me to a good place that's not
too far.
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