Chicken Soup with Crackers |
I knew a girl named Maribel in San Francisco. I worked with her at a bike messenger company. She was an immigrant from where I cannot recall but she was fair skinned and had long, gorgeous legs but the face and voice of a child. She stayed south of Market Street in one room of a large house. She had a hot plate, small fridge, a bed with a frilly pink canape and tons of stuffed animals. She had a twisted sense of humor so we'd sit and laugh for hours about nonsense. She had two doors, one solid and another a screen door on the second floor which she left open to allow the breeze to come through. Everything was strange about her place and her for that matter. I admired her coming to the city alone, knowing no one. She was brave and decisive and worked her way to managing the dispatcher's, who were a bunch of older bike messengers that were injured or tired of riding. They loved her and often carried her around like a little kid. I recall playing with her like your family dog would the pet hamster. She fascinated me yet, I wasn't sure how to be friends beyond a couple of after work visits. I wasn't a ruffle type of gal and despised pink, so we drifted.
This week a woman named Maribel with I would have sworn the last name of my old friend, booked an appointment to plan a kitchen. All morning I devised this fantasy of us catching up after all these years, her now living in New York, perhaps ending up with her Mr Big. How fun it would be to see her little sparkling eyes again and hear what ever became of her. Would she have gotten married and had children? I do recall an older man, a sugar daddy of sorts in the picture that I was convinced was a pervert with a thing for child-like girls. I hated to be cynical because she was head over heels and pined for his letters, that always included a wad of cash tucked into the folds. She dreamed of being rich and having lots of things. He made far-out promises that included too many someday's. San Francisco had a market for any type of deviancy one would desire and I suspected she had fallen into the seedier side of opportunity. But she wasn't a child, she was 25 and could make her own mistakes, like I did.
Thawed Easter Dinner leftovers for lunch |
This past Easter, I had made a meal that became today's lunch. Mashed potatoes and gravy at work tastes like heaven. And pair that with roast chicken and asparagus, well it almost makes up for the boatload of crap one puts up with all day.
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