During a quiet peaceful day alone with stitching yesterday, this story of home showed up. It's about leaving, staying, being there, and wanting to know that are all are possible.
Come evening, some things fell apart. It was 9:00pm, and I needed a break. Some wine had already happened, so driving was not an option. I got on a bus.
I texted a friend, who lives on my bus line. She was downtown at a concert, not home. So I kept riding. Half an hour later, across town, I got off and walked to the stop heading home.
A moment after boarding, the friend texted that her date was leaving the concert early, if I could get to the theater, she'd try to get me in. The bus app said a different bus was needed. Fortunately, the next stop was also for the right bus. It was also on a dark lonely street at the edge of downtown. When I got on the next bus, the app wouldn't work.
I asked driver where to get off? "You're on the wrong bus." What to do? He threw out all kinds of ideas. I said that I just needed to get near 9th and then I could walk. "Too far, wouldn't want you to do that..." He was clearly thinking it was too sketchy of an area. I got off near 9th, with him pointing out that the stop I should go to was just across the street. I called out my thanks, and went the other way, down 9th.
The theater was only six blocks away. They were dark blocks, with a few folks sleeping in doorways, quiet and peaceful. My friend met me outside, and attempted to bring me in. The usher, an older no-nonsense woman, gave me the "I know what you're up to" eye, while I returned her gaze with "I'm a tired and desperate woman" eyes, and she let me go by...
And that's how, an hour after leaving home, I was listening to Jason Mraz sing about the sun shining, not giving up, and all of the good things he wished for each of us. It was so nice. I cried through them all, out of weariness, and joy for the moment. Afterwards, K. came, and drove me home.
