maybe

The lady in the purple dress was looking at me. It was painfully obvious. But to me, Mr. Oblivious, it meant nothing.

She had extremely blonde hair. The kind that either was bleached to the point of falling out, or she spent every waking moment not at work or at home on the beach. I’d most likely go for the latter given her tan.

She was walking along the beach about 100 yards in front of me before. Now she was perched on a park bench. You can’t really watch the sun set here, since we’re facing south pretty much. But it still is pretty at this time of the day. The time right before night wins out. When the birds are still out, however, they’re in a hurry to get wherever they go for the night. A nest, a hole in a wall, or just a tall branch out of reach of the predators that come out here. And by that I mean feral cats. They’re everywhere. I don’t feed them, but someone does.

The three-legged one is my favorite. He/she just kind of limps around, with the ‘what the fuck do you care about it?” look. Never once has it even stopped for more than a quick glance at me. And I guess that’s OK.

I’d pet it if it came up to my house. No food, however.

The girl on the bench keeps looking at me as I settle on to a wall nearby. I just want to lean back against the ropes and relax. Watch all the rich tourists in their BMWs and Audis and such drive by. Without fail every car does the same thing … the passenger looks at me sitting there, then looks away when I make eye contact. Soon after, they look back. I guess to see if I’m still looking.

It amuses me. Simple things like that usually do.

Kind of like this girl on the bench. I guess girl isn’t the right term. She’s a woman. Probably my age, maybe a little older. I’m guessing she smokes Camels and drinks Budweiser. Definitely not a MicUltra kind o’ gal.

I keep glancing over at her and she at me. I know I’m not going to go over and say anything, because I don’t do that. I’m shy. Painfully so. Kind of ironic that I used to get paid to talk to strangers and ask them pretty intimate questions. It’s that whole distance thing, though, that made it ok.

One time in a bar, a friend said to go up to a girl as if she was just an interview subject. Then it would be easier.

It was easier. To interview her. But then the thought process go in the way and I made an ass of myself. It’s a charming thing to watch, I’m sure. But very painful.

Finally, the girl in purple gets up from the bench and starts walking to me. I’m listening to Lucero in my L-pod (yeah, lucero-pod, I’m witty, like Edward Norton in Fight Club), and I turn the volume down just in case she talks to me on the way by. I’m deaf enough as it is, so having headphones on at the beach certainly doesn’t make idle chit chat easy.

She gets near me and crosses the street with a little glance over her shoulder. Yeah, she did that.

I watch her until she disappears into the fading daylight a couple blocks away.

“Oh well,” I think to myself. I do that a lot.

After watching a few more cars worth more than two years salary, a cop pulls up. He slows and looks at me. Glaring would be the better word. I look like a bum. My bathing suit is old and faded, I once wore it every day on a trip that my ex and I took -- 10 days in a row. But that was when it was brand new and I liked the way it fit. Now? It’s old, faded and the pockets have holes in them. Those annoying mesh pockets.

I finally started wearing the bathing suit without underwear here. Funny, it takes me living at the beach to under stand the concept.

My eyes meet up with the cops’ eyes again. I want to say “fuck you, I’m drunk as a sailor!” but I don’t. I just lift my flip flops from off the corner of the ledge I’m on and flap them at him.

He accelerates off.

I get up and start walking, barefoot, the ½ mile or so to my house. I think of turning up one street, but decide against it. Instead, I got to the street with motels on it.

After passing the first one, I see the girl in purple, sitting on her porch at the first house after the hotel. I swallow hard. Why do I still get so nervous about such innocuous stuff?

As I get to her house, I look over.

“Hi!” she says.

“I smile and say “Hello!” back at her. Never missing a beat as I keep walking away.

Of course, I think a few seconds later that a normal person would have stopped to chat. But I figure I’m a resident here now, she’ll be there the next time I walk by.

Maybe.