I wandered around Upper Haight yesterday watching shoppers and wondering what I was going to do for the evening… maybe a podcast, or work on my deadline. I walked around Buena Vista park, like I have since I was a kid — and just like when I lived on the streets. I’ve spent so many xmas eve’s walking around by myself. It was a cool, gray afternoon, and I walked past the same posh Victorians that I’ve dreamed about living in for so many years; the kind of San Francisco opulence that is unthinkable, really, but you know how you dream of these kind of things. Stopping in front of an incredibly beautiful classic Vic, I looked and wondered about their view, saw the piano in the window, and the christmas tree all lit up behind it — it was obviously a piano someone used, as it had well-worn music sheets on top. I imagined a warm house, with the smell of tree, and music filling it. I thought they probably had a fireplace, too.
I stood and took a photo. I was wearing boots and jeans, and my black hoodie with the hood up over my head to keep my ears warm, just like when I lived on the streets and did the same walk, and imagined the same things about people living in these beautiful houses.
I kept walking for a while through this neighborhood, the same neighborhood I used to try to find places to sleep in, thinking about the things that had changed since then, even if I didn’t feel so far away from it.
In Upper Haight, Hacker Boy messaged me asking where I was. I told him — I hadn’t seen him since last week — and he said, stay there I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Family obligations over, I felt like I’d thrown pennies at his window and convinced him to sneak out. Contrary to my expectations, I wasn’t going to be alone on xmas eve.
When we were back at my house, he started with the one on my ankle, and his eyes never left mine. A kiss, a number, a kiss, a number. Drowning by numbers. When he got to my wrist, a recount in reverse order. A different number; another recount as I giggled and squirmed. Here, I have no disguise. The undertow of his kisses was sweet, and made me forget about being alone.
People often tell me I’m prettier in person. I don’t know why.
Thirty-two cherry blossoms. He said, “A power of two. That’s good.”
(Image: self-portrait last night in Union Square at around midnight, San Francisco)
Comments on this entry are closed.