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Dangerous Compassions

happy Easter

Last night I went out to dinner with my friend H. We went to The Old Spaghetti Factory, which I had never been to before. I liked the pesto dressing, but my salad’s lettuce was limp and seemed unfresh. My pasta dish was pretty good but monotonous. (I brought about a third of it home to Erik, and he thought the same.) The vanilla ice cream was nice. I liked the high ceilings and dark wood. Our booth was private. We were seated right next to a…trolley car? bus? I don’t remember–some type of vehicle that had tables in it. In the distance we could hear a loud party that sounded like a game show. And throughout the meal, we heard a few “happy birthday”s being sung.

Anyway, the company was first rate. We talked about our families, past relationships, and a ticket H got a few weeks ago and had to pay in Woodland though it was unjust.

We were celebrating H’s birthday. I gave her some soap, a copy of my book, and a really pretty card in pinks and purples with fine glitter showing an Indian woman with her Swadhisthana chakra demarcated. I wish I had a scanner–I would have scanned it to show.

This morning I thought about staying in bed, but I went to church because it’s Easter and I wanted to see my church friends. A lot of people showed up–the choir was full. For some reason, I thought we sounded like we were shouting. Afterwards I sat on the veranda chatting. Prasad candy was chocolate eggs rather than the usual See’s. I got a big hug from P and we wished one another happy Easter. She was wearing a shirt of pastel colors and her pretty white skirt.

Then I came home and went for a walk. I wore my new shorts–it was my first time wearing shorts outside since last summer. I walked by the Catholic church. The parking lot was packed. I saw a tiny chihuahua that looked at me cautiously then made little bark sounds as I got near.

Erik’s hiking today at Mt Diablo with his friend T. He said they might be back late and not to worry. I told him to be careful and make good choices.

On my walk I didn’t bring my wallet. I had a complicated fantasy that I would get hit by a car, and since I didn’t have any ID, no one would know who I was, and Erik would have no idea where I was. I thought about if I died and he had to come identify my body. I imagined myself in the hospital, if I was able to speak and told them to call him, and he arrived to see me in the hospital bed hooked up to so many tubes and machines, and I said, “Stay with me.” Does everyone have fantasies like this? Next time I’ll bring my wallet.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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