Monday, October 6, 2014

On a Late-September Night in Brentwood, Los Angeles (2014)

I had dinner with my friend C- at a pleasant restaurant called A Votre Sante. We'd just taken a Sunday evening yoga class at the very-Brentwood Maha Yoga, with the setting sun spilling in on a bunch of fit well-heeled people doing pretty challenging yoga.

We sat outside at the restaurant, because C- wanted to. It was pretty outside: an ivy-covered wall in a snug but not too-tight alley; Christmas lights tastefully strung over the ivy, and black metal-frame chairs with bright red cushions.

We were the only ones out there when we sat down. Shortly thereafter, we were joined by a young dad and a 6-or-so year-old girl. The dad wore a 3-piece suit and the girl had on a simple white dress; for some reason, this didn't immediately strike me as odd, or strike me in any way. He had long curly hair that was neatly combed back -- a man out on the town. His daughter's hair was held back by a small white silk band.

After they chose tables, I leaned over to make sure they hadn't wanted the one next to ours, where my bag was parked. The man thanked me, then explained that "my daughter has asked me out for a date."

C. and I made approving, that-sounds-nice noises. And from there on were freaking riveted by the whole thing, stopping our own conversation to capture little snippets of theirs.

The little girl wanted to make an occasion of the night. Her dad went right along. She asked the waiter his name (Gustavo), and took some time getting it right -- Gustavo was nice about this. She wanted to order "chicken," so her dad and Gustavo conferred and settled on a chicken paella.

The dad asked if he should have wine or beer or just something like ice tea, and she seemed sort of confused. My read was that she was confused about what answer would make things most how she wanted them to be: was "wine" more occasiony than "beer"? I think she had a vague sense that drinking one of those-- wine, beer-- heightened an event, made it more of an occasion. I'm not sure where they came down on this one.

A few minutes into dinner, her dad asked "So, how are you doing? I know it must be hard for you..." I perked up with anxiety. I thought that perhaps this charming scene was a mid-divorce palliative of some kind. But in fact what was "hard" for the little girl was something to do with having her brother around all the time. She didn't seem too bothered about it; she clarified the specific kind of instance in which this was "hard", and seemed to say that the rest of the time things were pretty okay.

She made approving noises and comments about the food when it came. They chatted and talked the whole time.

As they got up -- their meal was quicker than ours, as it didn't involve coffee and may not, in fact, have involved desert -- C. asked if their date had been good. The little girl, whose name we knew was E. from her extensive introduction with Gustavo, said that yes it was. I asked if the food had been good, and she nodded and said yes it was.

She wandered off towards their car, a little shy and bored of us. I made a joke to her dad about how "she's off." He explained that he "apparently hadn't been spending enough time with her, that's what I was just told." Not at all in a put-upon or unhappy way; in a sort of matter-of-fact and grateful way, in fact. At this point little E. wandered back and he asked her again, continuing our polite engagement, if she'd had fun. And she said yes that she had and said, "I love you, daddy," just really very straightforwardly not at all like she was saying a thing. Although I got the sense that she was sort of glad to say it, like she'd been waiting to say it or something.

Her father jacked up; it happened in his chest and his face, and was clearly visible to two strangers from six feet away. He had no words at all; we smiled at the periphery and left him to it.

E. wandered away again, back back towards their car and towards home. Her father wandered after, wishing us both a good night as he went, and wishing us "good luck." He seemed to be imagining that C. and I were a couple, who might -- if we were lucky -- someday share and create the kind of experiences he'd had that night. Which was generous and sweet and mistaken, as we were/are two friends who'd just watched the whole little magic unfold.

Friday, October 3, 2014

HliAT, #2

How Long it Actually Takes to...

do the household stuff that needed doing the morning of July 23rd, 2014 in the city of Los Angeles after eating breakfast but before settling to work, to wit: take 3 Aspirin; make bed; clean up cat puke; change loo paper roll; put cat litter in littler box; pull the blinds): 5 minutes, 8.26 seconds