It is late morning and I am hungry. I decide to go into an Ethiopian restaurant in Hayes Valley for breakfast. I am dubious about getting an Ethiopian breakfast and curious about what I will end up with. As I enter I notice a bar, length-wise in front of me. To the left are tables at which people in groups of two and three are sitting. The tables are wood and look a little worn. Everybody is talking so that there is the high, indistinguishable hum, of conversations. The place is congenial.
The restaurant has outdoor seating to the right of me. I decide to go out because there are no free tables to the left. The outdoor seating is shielded from direct sunlight by a corrugated plastic roof. This area is also crowded--There are no free tables. I notice a table close to me that seats four people. Sitting at it is a single young woman. She is 20 years younger than me and I am fifty five years old. She is attractive and despite her age looks closer to thirty. She has auburn hair. I muster up the nerve and ask her if I may share the table with her.
She says OK and so I sit myself down. I ask her what kind of breakfast an Ethiopian restaurant serves. She smiles a little nervously. She has a small stack of pancakes and something else on her plate. I decide to order what she has. She asks me where I am from. I answer nervously that I am from Upstate New York and not the city. She says that is the same for her. I tell her the town I grew up in and ask her she has ever heard of it. She says yes and a connection grows between us.
Her name is Irene. I think I tell her my name but cannot now remember. We start to chat and compare notes the way two people do when they are interested in one another. She tells me that she works at UC Berkeley in the field (I think) of fashion design. I am appropriately impressed. I mention briefly that I am on full-time disability. The look in her eyes tells me that this is not something to be ashamed of (as I am).
We both notice that we share the same subtle accent that people from Upstate New York have. We agree it is something that most people do not recognize. Our eyes linger a little longer on one another and we both silently realize that we have formed the sort of friendship that can lead to romance. I feel a glowing warmth in my heart. I live in a state of continuous loneliness and now I feel that someone has broken through. A little bit--I am still very insecure.
She offers to drive me to where I need to go. We drive down the Broadway hill in Oakland where my daughter-in-law, Lana, and her family live. We do not start from their house, however. Irene's car is small but nevertheless airy though not spacious. We decide to drop in at Lana's new house further down the hill from where we started.
Lana's husband is working in the front yard of the bungalow that their house resembles. I recognize the layout of the property. Lana comes out to see who has come. We get a cool reception from both of them. I am confused and saddened by this. I try to exude an attitude of cheerfulness but roiling inside me is my fear of confrontation. Irene is cool and does not seem to be affected by all this. She must be better able to handle this kind of situation. We say goodbye and leave in Irene's car.
I wake up.
The restaurant has outdoor seating to the right of me. I decide to go out because there are no free tables to the left. The outdoor seating is shielded from direct sunlight by a corrugated plastic roof. This area is also crowded--There are no free tables. I notice a table close to me that seats four people. Sitting at it is a single young woman. She is 20 years younger than me and I am fifty five years old. She is attractive and despite her age looks closer to thirty. She has auburn hair. I muster up the nerve and ask her if I may share the table with her.
She says OK and so I sit myself down. I ask her what kind of breakfast an Ethiopian restaurant serves. She smiles a little nervously. She has a small stack of pancakes and something else on her plate. I decide to order what she has. She asks me where I am from. I answer nervously that I am from Upstate New York and not the city. She says that is the same for her. I tell her the town I grew up in and ask her she has ever heard of it. She says yes and a connection grows between us.
Her name is Irene. I think I tell her my name but cannot now remember. We start to chat and compare notes the way two people do when they are interested in one another. She tells me that she works at UC Berkeley in the field (I think) of fashion design. I am appropriately impressed. I mention briefly that I am on full-time disability. The look in her eyes tells me that this is not something to be ashamed of (as I am).
We both notice that we share the same subtle accent that people from Upstate New York have. We agree it is something that most people do not recognize. Our eyes linger a little longer on one another and we both silently realize that we have formed the sort of friendship that can lead to romance. I feel a glowing warmth in my heart. I live in a state of continuous loneliness and now I feel that someone has broken through. A little bit--I am still very insecure.
She offers to drive me to where I need to go. We drive down the Broadway hill in Oakland where my daughter-in-law, Lana, and her family live. We do not start from their house, however. Irene's car is small but nevertheless airy though not spacious. We decide to drop in at Lana's new house further down the hill from where we started.
Lana's husband is working in the front yard of the bungalow that their house resembles. I recognize the layout of the property. Lana comes out to see who has come. We get a cool reception from both of them. I am confused and saddened by this. I try to exude an attitude of cheerfulness but roiling inside me is my fear of confrontation. Irene is cool and does not seem to be affected by all this. She must be better able to handle this kind of situation. We say goodbye and leave in Irene's car.
I wake up.
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