A Night in the Nineties

Evolution is the only consolation to turn to while facing the ridiculous insanity I am surrounded with. It is so much more comforting to consider human beings delicate molecular structures than to think of them as a bunch of ant-like creatures struggling through daily affairs. I visualize molecular structures; highly organized particles forming shapes, functioning in harmony, spinning and building patterns ... Delicate, complicated, beautiful. Delighted by those thoughts and images I finally find myself capable of performing several of the important ant-acts: I get up, get dressed, and leave the house.

Outside I find a marvelous morning: crystal clear sky, skin-warming sunshine and a gentle breeze. As I walk the few blocks to the cafe, I think about how happy I am to be in this city and how happy to be. At the cafe I order a coffee and a huge cookie for my breakfast and then settle down at a table. I begin to write to a friend abroad and I just proudly announce that my priority is independence and to be single a joy as I look up and meet the eyes of the person at the next table. Actually, the guy is staring at me. While I usually find such incidents rather annoying, I do not mind in this particular case: that molecular structure is indeed delicate. So I do not look away and for a while we are just starring at each other. Since the eye-contact is becoming rather intense I am relieved when he finally comes over to my table and asks:
  “Would you mind if I sat down?”
  “Not at all”, I say and soon find myself in an interesting conversation.

He turns out to be quite a character; a fifty year old actor who rather appears to be in his late twenties according to both appearance and behavior yet who shows a potential of experience that makes me believe his age. We talk about one thing and then about another; we talk about so many things that it feels as if we talked about everything. It is one of those conversations one can only have with a person just acquainted with, where you give each other something like a complex hint to your background and beliefs.

As we leave the café, Adrian puts his arm around my shoulder. I immediately yet elegantly free myself and I think “Please, no, not that, don’t make the move…” Although I find him both attractive and interesting, I do not intend to end up in a biochemical crash. At this particular point of life those human mating games do nothing more for me than make me laugh, anyways. It looks as if he can take a hint. I ask him where exactly he lives: he needs to pick up something at his home. We are going to go to dinner since it has already gotten that late. After a short bus ride and a short walk we reach his house and I insist on waiting outside. After a few minutes, he returns and soon we are sitting in a nice Italian restaurant.

Something is strange about this man, something really intense that I now begin to notice. I cannot really pinpoint what it is, just little things seem odd to me, small remarks, tiny overreactions. He throws himself into my future plans and, worse still, even includes a part for himself. I cannot take that as pure interest; I think that is alarmingly weird. He wants to get me a job, get me a place, send me to school … What does he expect in return for his imagined generosity? Where is this going to? I do not expect anyone to support me and definitely not some stranger. But before I become really alarmed we somehow change the subject away from me. I feel comfortable again, enjoying my marinated salmon, the sautéed vegetables, the wine, and a still interesting conversation. I that mood I gladly agree to go to a club where a jazz band is supposed to play.

On our way to the club we pass a corner store and Adrian says: “Can you wait a second?” He goes in and buys something that gets brown-bagged. Must be alcohol. In fact, it is vodka. Adrian immediately takes a large sip, one that would be sufficient to set my throat and stomach on fire. I quite like an occasional drink; however, I usually do not start out with vodka straight. It is one of those small, handy bottles that neatly fit into the pocket of a coat and the elegant way in which Adrian place it just there after I have declined his offer indicates much practice on that move. By the time we reach the club it is empty but I hardly notice having myself much practice ignoring those tiny unpleasant things in life. The band is great and load, so we stop talking and just listen to the music and have some beers.

Time flies, the show is over and all of a sudden it is two a.m. I am really tired and would like to go home. “I should get a cap” I think and suddenly realize that I only have about a dollar in my wallet. “Great, I am such an idiot.” As if he can read my mind, Adrian says: “We should get a cab that can drop you off first and then bring me home.” But then, he starts walking in a direction where no one would expect a cab, that does not lead to any means of transportation, or to the main streets. “I don’t think we will find a cab that way”, I therefore say. I am not at all prepared for the reply: “Don’t tell me what to do, stupid bitch!” I am stunned. Is that the considerate, friendly guy I have been talking to? I get quite angry, too, so I yell back: “Don’t talk to me like that, asshole!” We stare at each other for a moment, and then he says: “Oh, I am so sorry, I did not mean to say that, let us just go and get a cab.” So we finally walk towards Market Street. It is cold out, I am freezing already, the little disturbing things about the man walking next to me that I have ignored are on my mind and nothing would make me happier than the sight of a cab. None in sight, but unfortunately a fast food place. With the words “I am hungry again”, Adrian disappears into the greasy-looking place. I follow him because at least it is warm in there. Had I just enough money for a cab! Adrian, in the meantime, has found the most effective way to prolong our stay in that lovely place by starting a ridiculous fight with the counterperson who I feel really sorry for. That has another precious side-effect: he gets to eat outside. So we settle down on an inviting looking park bench at Civic Center. I am just recalling all the muggings, rapes, and murders I have heard and read about so that I won’t jump up and walk home by myself, when a homeless guy comes to the bench asking for a smoke. He is rather short, his hair is brown, oily, and curly; his clothes and features are worn out, and his eyes are sad. As I light his cigarette, he remarks: “Someone took my hat today. Just walked up to me and said: ‘Hey man, I want your hat’, grabbed it and walked away.” If not for those immensely sad eyes, I would have laughed. It is not at all funny, though. One look at the man turns the incident into a story that tells his life. I hear Adrian say: “Why don’t you sit down?”

And so I sit there, on a park bench at Civic Center in San Francisco at about three at night, to my left a homeless Vietnam veteran, to my right a strange man who seems stranger every minute. The two are talking about Vietnam now. How Adrian is trying to make that man feel better shows him in a different light again, a sympathetic one. However, I cannot help it, I am almost deep-frozen, so I say: “Please, Adrian, let us get a cab, I am terribly cold.” “Shut up, bitch, can’t you see I am talking?” The Vietnam vet seems as unpleasantly surprised as I and says: “Don’t you call her that, man, she is such a nice and pretty girl.”

I have had it now and I ask myself what worse can happen to me than this maniac, so I get up and shout: “Quite enough!” And I walk away. Adrian comes after me, begging: “Please, don’t go, I am sorry, I want you to get home safely.” Turning around, I say: “Well, then get me a cab, now!”. “Alright, we will get one quickly.” We walk towards the street again. After a short while we pass someone who apparently wants to sell drugs. My charming company stops. I stop, too – to breathe, in utter disbelief. “That is it”, I say, “I am leaving this very minute, you bloody lunatic, I am not waiting any longer!” This time, I just ignore the insults that again burst out of him, I keep walking, thinking that I will just put one foot in front of the other until I reach my house and warm bed. Just then I notice the homeless Vet who has followed me and I now calling me. Crazy Adrian has disappeared from sight. I stop, until the man reaches me. “Where are you going?” he asks, “You can’t walk around here alone at night, don’t you know how dangerous that is?” “I really have no choice”, I say, “and before I freeze to death, I rather walk home”. That is quite a walk indeed, but all I care about now is at least to feel as if I were getting closer. “I walk you home. Don’t be scared; I just don’t want you to run around alone here. Are you cold? You can have my jacket.”

I am deeply touched. Somehow I know that indeed there is nothing to fear from that man. He walks about three yards next to me to assure me that he only seeks to protect me. And really, he walks the whole way with me, meaning no harm at all. I can sense how proud he is to walk through the night with someone from a different life, to share my last cigarette, to talk. I try to express my gratitude but he just brushes it off by saying: “I really could not think of anything better to do right now than to walk a California girl home.” I am moved; for a moment I catch an emotional glimpse of the world’s misery that I usually put off so elegantly. It hurts.

As we finally reach my place I wish to say “Thank you” at least, but again he cuts me off. He looks at me and says: “You don’t have to thank me. I did not expect anything.” And walks away.