Dangerous Compassions


Yesterday morning, we went on the hill El Cerrito is named for.  There’s a park.  The hill is covered with eucalyptus trees.  I hugged a tree–we had a beautiful moment.

It was cloudy–I enjoyed the marine layer.  No one else was up there.  Ming said people don’t like eucalyptus trees.

Then we went to Berkeley to my favorite Pakistani restaurant.  On the way, we had a brief argument.  I was upset about some bad behavior Ming did.  I was disturbed, sad, and angry, but for a short time.

“Do you trust me, when I get mad at you, that I’ll feel better soon?” I asked Ming.

“Yeah, but I also know you’ll remember it–forever,” he said.

“What can I do?” I asked.  “I can’t turn my brain off.”  Sometimes I wish I could.

Then we went to Alameda.  I sat at a starbux while Ming saw his older kid.  A blind guy almost hit me with his cane, then joined me at my table and wanted to talk a lot.  I felt a bit interviewed, was ok for a few minutes, then moved inside.  Ming txted me a picture of him and his kid.

Then we went to Oakland so Ming could pay a visit to a friend at his assisted living facility.  I sat in the minivan, looking at some indigo morning glories.  The friend didn’t remember him.

Then we were in a traffic jam.  Stopped at Acme for special bread.  I bought Ming a challah covered in sesame seeds. 

I was just eating some, remembering a time ten years ago when I was in upstate New York visiting someone I loved, volunteering at a bakery, braiding challah for a wedding.

Life takes us some weird places.  I don’t understand anything.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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