Short Essay #2

Intuition

The long concrete walkway down Hollywood Boulevard looked different this trip, and as we passed a variety of shops selling sweatshirts and sunglasses I couldn't help but think that something was wrong about it.  My sister decided to drive back to the hotel instead of joining my parents and me on our second “walk-of-fame” tour.   Her loss, I thought.  How could you not want to be out basking in the California sunshine? 

We walked through some of the shops, stopping here or there to look at postcards that we’d never buy and t-shirts we’d never wear.  None of it mattered to me; I was newly single, admitted into a Masters Program and just happy to be in L.A. for the second time in less than a year.  Life was great.

My Dad decided that he wanted to stop for a beer.  I certainly didn't know where to do that on a Sunday afternoon in Los Angeles and neither did either of my parents, so we walked a few blocks until we came to an indoor mall that housed a Restaurant Bar and Grille.  We stood at the bar, looking just like the rest of the tourists dressed in tank tops, shorts and flip-flops with fanny packs and over-the-shoulder purses.  I stood awkwardly at the bar, patiently (or rather impatiently) waiting for my Dad to finish his drink so we could go back outside.

As I stood with my arms crossed I saw a familiar face, too familiar.  Oh shit, I thought, watching my ex-fiance cross the bar to stand in front of me.  What the hell is HE doing here? 

“Hey.  Just decided to take a long drive with Doug and ended up here,” he muttered. 

How convenient, I thought, not second-guessing him at all for driving from New Jersey to California.  But before I could say anything, everything got fuzzy, my ears began to ring and the room went black. 

I woke up under a large familiar down comforter in a familiar bed in a familiar room.  My room.  I grabbed my cell phone to check the time (7:04am) and saw a text message.

It was my ex-fiance: “Hey. I have to ask you a small-ish favor. Lol.”

Later that day, I found myself out shopping with my college roommate, when her phone rang.

“Yeah, I got the confirmation email for the tickets today,” she said to her husband.

When she hung up, I asked what the tickets were for.

“Oh, plane tickets,” she said, “We’re going to L.A. in February.”