Second Gear

It's unbearably hot. Disgustingly so. You'd think mid-August in Venice Beach would be nice, about 77. Today it's a lovely 101- and don't believe that crock of lies that a dry heat is different, because it's not. Stick your head in the oven at 101 and experience the joys of a dry heat. I'm sitting here outside Chuck's hot dog stand, waiting for Kali, and people watching. The people watching is a an excellent way to bide my time, as I'm an aspiring writer. Hey, here in LA an aspiring writer is a welcome change to your run-of-the-mill novice actor. Practically all my friends thoroughout high school and college were all working towards becoming actors or muscians- and now five years after college graduation, most of all of them are accountants. What a crazy town. Anyways, basically any beach is a breeding grounds for fantastic ideas, especially during high tourist season. For instance, there's a man right now taking a piss in the middle of the sand, in front of some little kids. One of the kids' mother is trying to feign offence, but she's having a hard time stifling her laughter. As am I. I see a young couple-maybe about me and Kali's age- settling near the surf. He's a tiny pasty thing- probably in technology, and she looks to be like most of my exes. Regular height, pretty, looks great in a bikini- and an absolute pill. She's giving him a hard time about the direction of the umbrella, as it wacks him repeatedly in the face. Now she's thrusting a dark bottle of tanning oil (not such a great idea) right in front of him, ordering him to slather it on. I noticed the glint of a gold ring on a very significant finger of hers, and frankly I'm not surprised. If they were dating, or even engaged, I'd be seeing something more along the lines of "From Here to Eternity" right now, rather then my own parents. Marriage is the thing, especially when attempted young, that brings out the best of the worst in your partner. Primarily because the general thought that a piece of paper and some jewelery will make two people absolutely content with and faithful to each other "till death do them part" rings just a bit realistically hollow.

Do I sound bitter? Well, then paste that label on me. But for eighteen years while I lived with mom and dad, theirs is the relationship I experienced. As well as many of my friend's marriages right now. Which is why at twenty-seven I'm delighted to tell you I have no intentions of taking that bullet for a long time, perhaps ever. That may just be the biggest reason a majority of my serious relationships haven't exactly worked out. Also because as a creative soul I refuse to get "a real job" or quit smoking. But the marriage issue has always been the deciding factor amongst my former paramours in their "love him or leave him" list. These may not necessarily be physical lists, but they're stored up there in those mental files for safe keeping. Take Maggie Gallagher. I dated her for a while at USC, and we continued to hang around each other for about a year after graduation. Astecthically pleasing, and relatively intelligent, she generally held my attention. I assumed all was going well until she decided on a weekend jaunt to Santa Barbara that "at 23, I've waited long enough...and so I think we should really consider our priorities here....I mean, where are you really going?" I replied that I'd drank a bit too much, and I really had to pee- that's were I really wanted to go. That was obviously not the answer she was going for, and the last time I heard she was living with a barista on a houseboat in Sausilito.

But Kali's different. Honestly, she's just a really genuine person. I met her seven months ago at a mutual friend Barry's concert, and I just started talking to her. She was the "unofficial bartender" she had cutely explained to me, because "Lyndon was supposed to be the one, but his jellyfish Stigler has been feelling down lately." That last phrase really interested me, "feeling down lately." The way she put it didn't even make me question the absolute absurdity of a jellyfish as a pet. I also learned that evening that she "didn't exactly drink at all-not since junior year, I'm just sort of good at mixing drinks." She is very pretty, in that classic Brian Wilson-described SoCal way. But unlike the ubituouqus natural (well, sometimes) blonde lady, she's no Trixie McBimbo. As an artist, I really can't tolerate those kind of girls, who really have no opinions of their own. Unlike most of my moronic comtemporaries, who claim to have functioning brain cells, but attach themselves to these idiotic plastic Barbies. Not that I'm judgmental. Anyways, she's studying to become an environmental scientist, which is the best option for her. She's a vegan, the first of those I've actually ever tolerated, but she doesn't preach to me the virtues of soy milk versus "cow breast juice" that I heard it referred to before. Not that I go around guzzling the dairy, but no one can stand the virtuous. We're not living together, because that's a bit too much commitment for me right there, and that sort of arrangement generally leads down wedding cake lane. I think two people should only live together if you've had a kid, or you really want to tick off your parents, because if you're sharing a home- you're stifling creativity. I'm by myself in that shack on Ocean Dr., and I still can't manage to really write anything of substance. I'd like one day to get out of California and head for New York, because that's where the real art abides. I've always imagined myself just a block over from those famed New Yorker offices, surrounding myself amongst those creative souls, and benefitting from their storied wisdom. I've shared these thoughts with Kali, and to my surprise, she's perfectly alright with them. "Granted, I don't ever imagine myself out of California, but we're not tethered to one another- so it's okay." You've got to adore a woman like that, one who actually gets where it's all going from the beginning. She can't expect me to be sitting around writing prose about her forever, anyways.

I've jotted what notes I could strew together about the happy couple down in my pocket notebook: "Insightful piece on demise of relationship perhaps. Consider option of giving characters my parent's names." Now I'm truly strung out, because Kali said this "quick, basic run" would take an hour- and it's now been eighty minutes. I hate the heat and the sun,( as I made clear earlier) and when you're as translucent as I am, such entities aren't really all that ecstatic about you, either. At just the moment when I'm about to hurl myself into the salty waves, Kali and her faithful companion Beulah come careening up. "Listen, I'm soooo sorry I'm late Bren. I lost track of the time, and we ran into Lesli and Maybel, so we had to stop and chat." She's giving me that endearingly mournful look-the one I've received from many women- with those blue eyes on the verge of a saline water eruption. "Hey, it's alright. Look at my arms- they're not scarlet yet, so you've made it just in time." We embrace and kiss, like good young lovers do when all is forgotten. If things go on like this for however long they go on, we both could be very happy.

I trudge up the khaiki dunes alongst her and that old mutt Beulah, trying to decipher just where I parked the Prius amongst the army of eco-friendly vehicles. Kali stays back a bit, as Beulah stops to squat for what is probably the fiftieth time in the last half hour. "You know, Beulah- those gears aren't just what they used to be anymore." Kali grins impishly at me, waiting for a response. That dog is just one example why she and I would not make compatible roommates. I can just imagine that beast pissing and craping all over my manuscripts, while Kali assages her "poor, poor girl", and leaves me to explain to my editor that I can't make the deadline on account of canine incontinence. Anyways, I just don't like animals of any sort, so it's natural a living being besides female human is going to upset me. She scoops up Beulah in her long, comely arms and buries her face in what was once Beulah's thick soft coat. "Aha! There's the car! I figured once that ice cream truck moved, I'd find it." Kali shuffles all her beach paraphenalia into the trunk, and gently tucks Beulah into the back seat- although the trunk would be the more appropriate place for that drooling Chewbacca.

Kali bounds into the passenger side, obidiently buckles her seatbelt, and allows her flaxen tresses to tumble down well past her waist, in a move a la earthen pin-up girl. I let all the windows fly open,and Beulah dumbly sticks her head out one, while Kali's hand gracefully flits out her own. She is the most beautiful like this, in her element. Anything to do with nature, the outdoors, and she becomes the best-looking creature you've ever seen. I can smell her signature fragnace- a bit of the sea, her sweat, and some wet dog tossed in for good measure. Disregarding the latter, and it's the most amazing scent I've ever experienced- forget Chanel No. 5. "So, where am I headed?" I ask of her as she clumsily fumbles around with the radio dials. "Uh...how about home, because I've got to drop the baby off,and I've got an evening yoga class." Amongst her many other talents, this woman is quite the accomplished yogi- though she won't get me near that class of hippie freaks and derelicts. I consider myself to be quite the open-minded guy: I drive this Prius, recycle, consistently vote Democratic, and have shunned red meat ,(in an effort to impress Lady Godiva over there) but everyone has their limit.

"How about some rice cream before you take on those sun salutations?" I look over at her from the corner of my eye, and of course the answer is yes. It's a good thing to live in such a health-conscious town with such a animal-conscious girlfriend, and not in Miller, Iowa, or I'd be way out of luck appeasing her. Traffic is absolutely horrific, and we'd have missed the rush if it were not for those extra twenty minutes, something else to mull over when considering keeping a mate after the move to New York. It's not really helping matters that "Layla"'s blaring over the airwaves, and that Kali insists on shouting along with Clapton. I really hate her taste in music. Everytime we go out in my car, I suggest we hook up my iHome, that way we'd be hearing the likes of Ron Sexsmith, Odetta, and Tom Rush- not Cat Stevens, the Grateful Dead, Dylan, etc. I swear, if Kali was in London in the late '60s, she'd be one of those spray painting "Clapton is God" in the tube stations. That flower-power stuff- it may have been "ground-breaking" forty years ago, but I all I can think of now is a bunch of paunchy old men going around telling you on the beach, "It just ain't what it used to be, man."

"Have you ever, you know, hitchhiked?" She asks me, eyes all asparkle, dragging me out of a mental vent.
"No- no way. That's crazy!"
"Well, why? I mean, you never know but I'm still here aren't I?"
"What? Kali?? you don't go sticking a thumb out on the highway, especially when you're a girl."
"You're so boring, Bren. You don't let yourself go."
"I've actually done that several times, you should know, in the days before I met you." Here is a perfect time to set up a challenge, and I'm all for it.
"I've swum...nude before. Once."
"Wow, nude? no kidding...c'mon everyone's done that." I'm not exactly thrilled at this last bit of information- considering Kali, it's most likely been more than once and with more than one guy that she's gone a naturale.
"What do you want, then? Really, that's all I've got."
"You don't have to get so frustrated, you know. It's just you're always all about writing, and the New Yorker. And I like....fun, you know?" The more we go on like this, the more pros are going on my anti-marriage list.
"Fun is great! I love to have fun! Yeah, it's thrilling to be up at 2 in the morning trying to scratch something out for a deadline that's going to end up being overlooked! Too bad I can't be like some of those crazy kids out there- eschewing clothes, camping in trees, and catching some mad waves, man!"
"This is your problem! You're soooo uptight! So what if some archaic publisher doesn't like your latest Caulfield-esque rant- you'll just churn out another one in three days that'll be enough for the rent."
"Aha! See, you Kali are always okay with complacency. 'A B on the final even though I could have got an A? So what? 'Cause I'm free-spirited, hippie-dippie Kali. Nothing ever bothers me as long as my ancient mutt is updated on it's shots, what should I be concerned about?
"Y'know, I'm usually a cool person, Bren. But I'll tell you what- you're really pushing it here. I simply suggest you lighten up for once, and you just....erupt on me. That is not okay." She's giving me her "stern look" now, a face on her that is just about laughable.
"Yeah, I don't know...I guess I'm sorry I'm not... zen enough for you."
"Ha? What zen? Do you even know what you're saying."
"Why, no, my cherie amour, but I thought I'd...wing it."
"'Wing it'? Ew, please just stop while you're ahead." She finishes, scrunching up that freckle-face, giggling childishly.
"At this point, we're closer to your house before the class starts- how 'bout we pass on dessert?" I look over, awaiting her response.
"Yeah, okay- whatever." I love that I always hold her rapt attention.
Kali's house is about what anyone would expect if they saw her. Compact, completely off the grid, bedecked with solar panels, and more than one unkempt compost pile. The interior is kept mostly clean, and the words "vintage" and "green" could be tossed about more than once. All in all, it beats my place.

I should mention though, that there is no driveway here. Which makes for an exciting trip when you're trying to park on lush lawn, all the while attempting to avoid ruining any prize veggie plants or doggie toys.
"C'mon baby! Let's go pee-pee before we go inside!" Kali's tugging that evil beast along on it's leash, coaxing it into releiveing itself on the grass. Though knowing Beulah, it'd be content to whiz all over my as yet unfinished novel. Dumping out all the sandy gear from my car, I light up a cigarette from behind a huge willow, conceling my actions as best I can. "Uh-oh Beulah....looks like Daddy's getting himself in trouble again with the smoking!" Kali's found out my hiding place, and here comes round 2 of the fight du jour.
" Bren, you sooo know that's one thing I don't like you doing in front of me. So you quit eating cow, and that's good, but this smoking-" here she whips my innocent smoke out my hand and stamps it with her clog-"is not gonna work."
"Well, Kali you never seemed to have a problem with ex of yours and his weed addiction." Burn, I know.
"Oh wow....t-that's really low for even you right now Brennan! Mr. Psuedo-Intellectual, soooo much holier-than-thou, yet you can't quit the one thing I disaprrove of."
"'Disapprove of'", that's just great Mom! I do all this crap for you, put up with your insane friends, wackjob ideals, and sentient canine, and you want to control my life still. We should really get some DNA tests going, you might just be related to my mother."
"Hey! I never, ever asked you to do any of that stuff for me! You did it unsolicited yourself because you're a dorky, pretentious, academic smart.....ass-" Here I knew I'd crossed the line, because she never reverts to "salty language" on account of negative karma.
"-Yeah, that's right. I can see it on your face Brennan Feisz- you thought I was soo unapproachable that you had to make up this all stuff about how 'conscious a consumer' you are, and 'I just looove the earth' to score a date with me because in reality, you're a pasty, misinformed poseur."
"Touche, my dear, touche." I've really lost all my steam here, and her normally peaches-and-soy-cream complexition is turning an interesting hue not unlike a brush fire.
"Uh....this is just- too much. This whole serious, solid committed thing is just...not my scene. I've never been with a guy this long, ever. It's just an absolute eternity, day in and day out with you, wondering 'what is he gonna get mad about today?' I seriously...really, I don't know." I'm not liking the turn of this conversation at all, especially since her demeanor has changed from Fiery Tomato to Resolute Decision-maker.
"What's there not to know, Kali? We've been dating what, half a year and you're already bored."
"You know as well enough as I do Bren, that we're sooo different, and our friends hate each other, and our parents hate each other....if you had a pet, out pets would hate each other."
"Why does all that matter when in the traditonal sense of a relationship....shouldn't the two people involved be the only ones that matter?" Wow, I have no idea where I'm going with this.
"Well....yeah, that may not be the dictionary definition, but can't you see what's happening here? I mean, in a few months you'll land that New Yorker job, I know it! I have confidence that you will. And that'll mean leaving here....to go there, in New York....and I can't really go there, with you. How involved can my studies and activism get in, you know, a city?" She's looking up at me softly, questioning.
"Ah, so that's it....we can't do the whole long distance thing because I'm seeing a loose, nature child who believes in spreadin' the love all around, am I right?" I'm intrigued to discover the answer to this.
"Ew...don't be gross, Bren, I haven't 'spread the love all around' since I was 24. But you yourself said when we first met that you weren't looking for anything serious, as you had goals that you wanted to complete-and so do I- and those goals could not be fully met if we were both in really serious relationships."
"Yeah, so what are you doing now? Breaking up with me in the middle of your over-grown front lawn, with Beulah leaving her trace everywhere, and Mrs. Leary listening to every word we're saying over the hedges?" Here I've lost a bit of composure, and have allowed my arms to flail about like a boisterous Brooklynite.
"No, no I'm not breaking up with you, not all!"
"So what is this then? You wanna 'see other people' is that it? You wanna do some screwing around? This isn't like you Kali! Has your sister been having more of those chick flick marathons with you? Are-are all those fantastic new ideals the result of the Ephron sisters!!??" Yes, I've basically lost it all now.
"Why do you insist on yelling, Brennan, all the time? But doesn't all this yelling just show you how incompatible we are? You're so anti-marriage, anti-commitment, but the moment I start explaining to you what's going on you're practically proposing because you're afraid to lose me, now what is THAT?" Here she definantly arches a brow, and appears confident she's put me in her place.
"Proposing?? No, that is not what I had in mind, not all! But, now that you bring the subject up, if I ever had the inclination to marry you-which I don't!- I'd have to give up my goals because of YOU!! Because YOU would not want to move, because YOU have a dog. Too much compromise on my part, thanks!"
"Well, Brennan, you know what then? Get out of my yard! take these"- here she shoves my cigarettes in my hand"- horrific carcinogen carriers, and leave!"
"I don't care if you're sending me away....you think I care? It's like another life, baby....free and easy, 'cause you'll be out of it!" Where that last bit came from, I couldn't guess. I've never spoken like that to anyone, least not to her.
As she slammed shut what she could have of her broken screen door, Kali's face crumpled up like wasted parchment. I deserve an award for that performance, or something to that effect.

The gravel and twigs sputter listlessly around my tires, as I peel away, not even looking back, not even once, to catch one last blip of her face, as if I were in a movie, as if I intended on coming back. I want to lie out and let my skin get all parched and dry on the dunes, for some reason. I want to go out and rejoin my friends from my garage band days, for some reason. Instead I just go home. My home may just be the size of your attic, or even half of that. Loft. All I'd ever need tucked away in organize-unorganized units. The desk, the bed, the fridge....all in their appointed little spaces, everything once shiny and new, purchased by my mother, though less than thrilled that she was about my career. I'm free-lance, mainly to local periodicals. A piece on the enviromentally-friendly oyster farming here. A bit on a couple camped out in Venice there. I generally loathe it, but yeah, yeah, yeah......the bills. The place reeks of stale cigarettes, and even staler air. I toss open one of the two windows adjacent to my desk, and flomp down ready to work. Due Tuesday, for Child World magazine, an article on the perils of brown-bag lunches. I kid you not, and yes, the research is ridiculous as it sounds. Click. Click. Click. Scrolling through the melange of messages on my voicemail- my mother, reminding me of Saturday dinner- "Will Kali be joining us? If so, do you think she'd like the spicy tempeh again?"; Jarron, an old college friend reminding me of the local authors meeting Thursday; varying ascerbities from student loan officers and bill collectors....and no Kali, anyways, it's just as well. I glance over my list of notes for the article, and look over what I've got so far.....an introduction, and that's it. I saunter over to my decrepit cabinets, thrusting my hands about for a recogniziable can, and pull out some ancient tomato soup. Which I proceed to drink it straight and cold, back to my desk. Kali's a good one at avoidances. She invented the game, I swear. There are no e-mails from her. Nor any other tech messages or what-have-you's. My life is sinking into the deadening non-fiction dull of brown bag lunches and stale cigarettes.