Roosevelt

ph. by k. fatehi

What a day it was, the other day!  Just when you think you've got it all under control, holding your head high, stepping forward, conscientiously, bravely, determined, to whatever end.  Well, that's when it gets you.  Just because, I guess, sometimes it has to.  I do know that you've just got to be sad sometimes.  And not understand. And be confused and overwhelmed.  

I was making a quesadilla for lunch, and a slight panic was setting in and I was trying to avoid its presence, and  then I sliced myself on the can of beans and my finger was bleeding and I went to get a band aid and there was one, just one, left.  So that was good, I suppose, I only needed one.  But, still, that already made me sad.  Why don't I have band aids? And then I was eating carrots with ranch waiting for the quesadilla to cook and somehow at some point a carrot slipped or something and flew into the air and ranch splattered all over me, down the front of my shirt and all over my face even, which was kind of funny, just because, it was like, seriously, I can't even eat carrots? So I was standing there in my kitchen with a ranch splattered shirt and face and a bleeding finger and I just, little by little, crumbled.  I peeled off my shirt and washed my face and climbed into my bed and curled up freezing and just cried and cried for the better part of an hour.  And I fell asleep, all curled up and not knowing anything.

The next morning I gently nudged myself out of bed.  And delicately, ever so delicately, went to the window and looked out to the blue crisp day.  The sky was bright and life was continuing out there.  It was still chilly and the birds were chirping all around the park.  And I was a part of it still, looking out at it. And I made the hot chocolate and marshmallows that my sister sent to me just because and poured some strong coffee into it and sat at my table.  And I was quiet. 

And then it was Christmas Eve and Bethany and Johnny and I decided to go to the Roosevelt.  We went to 25 Degrees for burgers first, sitting all cozy together in a red booth, burgers stacked high, talking about life and laughing on Christmas Eve in Hollywood. 

Afterwards, we wandered over to the Library Bar for a cocktail which was fun but funny because the mixologist was just a little too arrogant and young to win us over and though we were slightly repelled, we enjoyed it more because of how bad it was than how good.  That seems to be how it goes sometimes.  And we laughed some more.

At the end of the night, we sat in the old lobby together, in the big leather couches and chairs, the lights dim and warm, sharing gross drinks and stories and that sweet and lovely Christmas Eve and it seemed, somehow, sacred and holy, and, I don't know, but I felt blessed beyond measure.