The Write Thing

I wonder what it is. Perhaps it is San Francisco with its intoxicating charms and the feeling that everything is possible. No other city in the world will allow you to walk holding hands, or playfully caress her arm across the table, without thinking that somebody is looking at you and disapproving. Elsewhere, somebody always is…Here, you are hailed as an “Obama girl” by the homeless who will lure you into handing them a coin “in support of your cause”.

I wonder what it is. Perhaps it is the unexpectedness of sharing a room with a stranger and feeling so at ease that you stop considering that you are living a borrowed time in a magical place away from home. Maybe it is because you live in different cities but you pretend that you do not, because she insisted, because she fought for me, because she listens to me, because she really wants me more than her fear would advise her to…and life has taught me to start giving that its proper value. Maybe it is because she holds no expectations, because she unravels softly, because we will both be open to whatever comes out of this, until we are no more.

I cannot account for this, because it is coming to me anew. “I am not in love”, says the song, “but I’m open to persuasion”. I do not know if I am, or if the remoteness from a hot and humid Buenos Aires is playing tricks on me. I wish I could have a better grip on the intensity of souls meeting, I wish I knew the way out…but there she is, subtle, almost imperceptible, getting in.

Houston builds its own American routine in me. Wake up early in the morning to have breakfast at the hotel that “feels like home”, grab a portion of eggs (only twice a week, their impact on cholesterol levels was never clear to me), a standard cup of coffee with half-and-half milk, some orange juice, bread or bagel depending on appetite, and off you go.

Westheimer tends to be busy at all times, and I cannot quite tell what the rush hour really is here. Probably seven, as that was the only time when I was greeted with a terrible traffic jam on my way from the airport.
8.15 am – Just before the Derek hotel, left down the sideroad that runs parallel to the I-610, right on San Felipe road and again left on Briar Oaks lane where the posh St. Regis hotel stands out as a landmark. My rental car — a Ford Fusion that is larger than my needs which, mind you, are large as well — roars to the sound of Elena Roger recreating Mina’s famous hits. The CD is a gift from two dear friends of mine, E and her significant other, given to me in presentia before I left for this business trip to Obamaland.

I decided to take only that CD with me this time, innocently imagining that I would choose my rental car this time and it would come with a suitable aux plug-in for my Ipod. It turns out to be that Ford is automatic in everything, so it does not need any more holes, which means I am stuck with the radio — which I tried repeatedly, and almost cried at when Casey Cason’s Top 10 review blasted to me from the loudspeakers one cloudy morning — or a 6-slot CD player. Ironically, I only have one CD. Elena knows this, and she seems to redouble her efforts to please me as I slowly play the Mina Che Cosa Sei performance in 10-minute segments every day, relentlessly. If you are a music lover, or not, you may concur with me on this — there is always one song that you will want to replay over and over again in almost every album. In this one, it is Mi Sei Scoppiato, which I sing along although my vocal chords are gradually being taken over by an upsetting flu. The lyrics are cheesy, but I like this song, it has become a classic, and in a way a wish. Who would not want somebody to burst out inside us, or who has not ever experienced that?

Mi sei scoppiato
dentro al cuore all’improvviso
all’improvviso non so perché
non lo so perché all’improvviso
all’improvviso
sarà perché mi hai guardato
come nessuno mi ha guardato mai
mi sento viva
all’improvviso per te

7.30 pm – I leave the car inside the hotel’s parking lot, organize my schedule for the next day, answer T’s e-mail, attached to which is a magnificent picture of Lake Tahoe, where she is skying before we meet in two days, and then I get ready for dinner time. As I sift through emails and decide on how busy I want or can afford my next morning to be, I think about how some things happen. She intrigues me. She came to me just like that… perhaps…it may be all’improvviso, but I am just finding out.

I have recently seen a wonderful movie, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, soon to open in Buenos Aires. The script is based on a short story written by F. Scott Fitzgerald which you can actually access online.

The story essentially poses the question of aging backwards. The protagonist, Benjamin Button, looks like an 80-year-old in a baby’s body when he first sees the light of day, and then grows young. Life happens in the meantime, and shows its complexity through it all, even with the benefit of youth instead of old age as part of progress. Who has not ever imagined what it would feel like to be a 20-year old in the mind of a 50-year old, combining experience gained with suffering with the supple structure of a vigorous body that responds to everything with a lot more energy? I know what it feels like to be 20, but I don’t know what it feels like to be 50 yet. Perhaps I can only idealize such an adventurous combination. However, after seeing the movie, I still do not think it is too different from the normal order in which we age. In other words, life’s complexity is the same no matter in what direction you grow.

As a closing statement for this post, I cannot but remember one of the key lines for me, spoken by Benjamin as he goes through the suffering of being different, or maybe simply of choosing.

You can go mad as a mad dog at the way things went; you can curse the fates, but when it comes to the end, you have to let go.

That is the way, Benjamin. As I write this, only a few days away from getting onto another plane leading me places, with adventure hopefully waiting for me at different ports, I can look back and smile. I am learning to let go…