A Girl...

Leave the Light on for Me

Yesterday evening while Simon was at band practice, I met up with my BFF, Teddy, for a playdate. I don't see him as often as I used to, now that I have a home to clean and martinis to prepare and he has an apartment clear on the other side of civilization (on the ocean-side of San Francisco), not to mention that his current roommate is my ex-fiance, who still (still!) won't speak to me after our most amicable of break-ups, lo these many years ago. Teddy has made it clear that I'm welcome at his place any time and that if Ethan has to hide in a closet or escape out the window and shinny down a drainpipe to avoid me, that's his misfortune and none of our own. If the apartment wasn't on the far edge of BFE, I might make the effort, just to see him squirm.

Teddy and I were initially just going to have dinner somewhere but ended up visiting an arts community/workshop/performance training/education space that one of his friends volunteers at. We toured the facilities and got a look at pretty much everything--glass pulling, jewelry making, welding, woodworking, bronze casting, bike maintenance--all of it save the build-your-own neon sign room and any of the fire arts areas (firebreathing, torch juggling, flaming hula-hooping, and the like).

Although it was most definitely an artist colony of sorts and not just a run-of-the-mill gathering of community college yuppies learning folk skills--the "students" at this place weren't just making stuff to make stuff; they were bringing their creative visions to fruition--everyone we met was cool and laid-back, and although there were a handful of crazy-haired freaks in handmade clothing roaming about, they were no doubt lovable freaks, the kind whose dress and demeanor says, "Come talk to me and learn what I'm all about" rather than "Stay away. I'm composing gothic poetry in my head right now and can't be bothered." Our tour guide said to me--in a fitted peacoat--and Teddy--in slacks and a tie--"You never know quite how white-bread you are until you meet the kinds of people who hang out here." I begged to differ: I am fully aware of how white-bread I am, thanks (although I also secretly wished I had a tattoo or piercing to reveal for a modicum of credit).

After an indulgent dinner (at Zachary's--the famous pizza joint that also supplied one of the first meals I ate in the Bay Area, when I came out here to find an apartment (with Ethan) in May of 2001), Teddy drove me home. In the daylight, our house is a bit of a circus clown next to the demure older sister that is the house to the right, painted in coordinating earth tones rather than, like ours, colors you might see suffusing the background of a hallucination, but in the dark, the houses look similar, especially obscured by their native jungles of miniature palms, succulents, and flowering shrubs, and both guarded by identical black Honda Civics.

"Which house is yours?" Teddy asked. "I always forget, and it's hard to tell when there are no lights on."

"The second one," I pointed, a little disappointed that Simon's car was still gone and the house was empty and dark. The band was auditioning a new drummer that night and practice would be going late. When I opened the car door, however, I noticed there were indeed lights on, but it wasn't the usual porch light or the glow from the fireplace that normally indicates someone's home. Simon had left the light on upstairs, and through the tiny attic window, I saw it--a disco ball was turning around and around and around, projecting a cascading grid onto the wood-paneled ceiling and tossing an occasional fat chunk of light onto the sidewalk where I stood. Had Simon left the ball on by mistake, or was it intended as a beacon, a welcome? I smiled. I'd never have guessed that one day home would be where I hang my disco ball.

Posted by Leah at February 27, 2008 12:45 PM