Twenty Six

She grows strong through many more wins than losses. Mentally, physically, and emotionally strong. Her parents are loving, hard working, and flawlessly selfless. She is born motivated to translate their perfection into her own feats of excellence. Her persuit is relentless, even at a young age. Straight As. No. A pluses. She studies to get a 100%. They never ask this of their daughter. Report cards and awards aren't displayed on the refrigerator door. They never give her money for an outstanding performance. Yet, she chases every achievement possible to show them she is trying her hardest, just like them.

She tortures herself when she gives her best and the results don't reflect this. A teacher yells at her for talking in the bus line. A few tears on the ride home. She misses one question on a calculus quiz. Self hatred. She loses a tennis match she could have won. Meltdown. Her first assignment in a college art class she receives a B. Hysteria unfolds in the bathroom next to her studio. Always a relatively quick recovery though. She won't let anyone, let alone her parents, see her weak for more than a moment. She is the first born to a family of underdog champions. The next generation of their legacy. Product of almost every possible human sacrifice. It does not matter to her if her parents or other family think this way. She thinks this way.

Twenty Five

They are on a boat in the Pacific. Michael's best friend invited them to spend Thanksgiving with his family in Nicaragua. This morning they go fishing with Juan and two of Juan's nine children, Juan Jr. and Filly.

Her father got violently seasick so she never spent time on boats growing up. Now she is on a tiny, utilitarian fishing boat feeling wind whipping through her nostrils, down into her lungs. This selfless, agile oxygen is on a mission to heal, putting her anxieties to rest and allowing her to focus on one thing. Staying balanced on the boat. She smiles.

After an hour, she stands on the boat. Her only supports are her legs and abs. She feels strong and healthy doing one thing. She has Juan Jr. teach her how to say the months in Spanish. She continues balancing and practicing out loud. Now up to two things. And one of them is learning how to communicate with the people who call this paradise home. The language of fishing can be heard over the motor. She listens too, but will concentrate on Spanish for now.

Twenty Four

The machine whirs. Sweat races down her neck and is caught by the hood of her sweatshirt. She expends an unhealthy amount of energy and time on these types of exercise machines everyday. While on them, she is distracting herself and disconnecting from her peers. She thinks her mind rests when she is exercising in this fashion.

But it's not.

It's racing.

Burning precious energy and brain power to accomplish short term physical goals. These souless, selfish finish lines take attention away from fear. Fear of being in the wrong place, far from her home. Fear of abandoning the financial rewards of her college degree and a conventional career. Fear of being in denial of vanity and addiction. Fear of not getting a regular period. Fear of keeping it all in.

Twenty Three

She enthusiastically sweeps the stoop with a little broom. Her mother dressed her in chore clothes that morning and this is her last assignment for the day.

It's the chore she does best, sweeping with impressive attention to detail for a five year old. She sings as the bristles wisk away the sand and soot. Her parents watch lovingly.

Now she sweeps her porch, her sidwalk, her courtyard, and her alley. She has a bigger broom and sings inside her head, instead of out loud. When the neighbors walk by, they comment on what a good job she's doing. She is waiting for the day someone aknowledges that she is caring for her home, not doing a job, and not hired help. They will say, "my, you keep a lovely home." And she will say, "thank you," and smile.

Twenty Two

She puts her phone away when she has plans. It doesn't matter how casual or formal, could be coffee, lunch, dinner... It's policy out of respect for present human company. Her new friend at the beach does not put his phone away. He leaves it on the table and waits for it to need him.

She wonders how you can sincerely live in the moment when your mind is distracted by intercommunication. His security blanket is also his blindfold. She notes that he made no comment on the waiter's visible nose hair? Or the hummingbird on the tree that almost flew into her tangled hair? He is about to stir an ant climbing on his spoon into his coffee. This ant makes her day. She thinks, "what a little comedian."

He has no idea what is going on outside his head and his phone. He frequently glances over, breaking their eye contact, ready to tend to any of its signals for attention. She has seen phones do almost everything. Buzz, flash, ring, and sing. He is waiting for the next update or calulating his next string of communications. While having a conversation with her, he's comtemplating future messages. What is going to be funny? Cool? What will inspire a reply?

She sits and eats, examining the whole act. She patiently reminds him of what they were talking about. She understands she is not the priority. He and his audience are. She is an extra in his life show. She is glad she chose a restaurant with good food, and more importantly, to him, a slick reputation. He will communicate this experience to his audience and want to get together again. She will see him again because sometimes she chooses vain companionship over genuine solitude.

Twenty One

He requests that she pick the wine for the night. They met last week at a party. He is only three years older than her. This is rare among the other people regularly in her life.

She finds a Chateaunuef du Pape from a praised, more recent vintage. She requests the bottle be decanted and they settle in at the corner of the bar.

The conversation is intense. They skip straight to a discussion of conventions, material success, happiness, hopelessness, and art. They sometimes pause. This is not uncomfortable. The wine breathes and they take their time sipping slowly.

She tells him she has no idea what she wants to "do" professionally. Even though she is well educated, she does not correlate "professionalism" with generating income. She lives to be happy and bring joy to herself and those she loves. She generates income by capitalizing on time not spent doing things she loves with people she loves. She does not prioritize, or really care at all, about a professional title (career) or professional success. This is how she thinks about her existence and she explains this to him.

He nods and remarks, " There is no outlet for talent."

This sentence stuns her. She has never said it herself or heard it before. She agrees and waits to see if he will expand on the statement.

He does, "Only according to the rules of the world around us. All we can do is sell it, and who decided that selling pieces of ourselves was the way to celebrate a skill? The only real outlet is to impress or entertain yourself or the people you love."

She pauses, then finally responds, "Impressing the people you love isn't that great though. I think it's better to find a way to give back to them using your talent."

He looks her in the eyes, "You're taking 'impressing' too literally. I don't mean to show up in a fur coat. I mean pretty much what you summed up."

There's another long pause. She is thinking. He looks away and reaches for his wine, "It was not meant to be a hopeless statement."

Her eyes light up, waiting to reconnect. She says, "I didn't think it was hopeless. I like it and agree with your points, especially in the context of a world order that rewards skill and talent with sales, which translates to financial gain."

"I don't want to sell anyone anything. I want to provide them something they need or want. I dream that they will seek out my service. Yes, I want to serve. Teaching wine classes is the closest I've come "professionally" to serving others."

"Then you should pursue that," he says. And they smile and clink their glasses. Her eyes twinkle from the alcohol and hope.

Twenty

Her stomach is empty and she's cold. The sun won't be up for another hour, but everyone at 14 Westbrook Road is awake. They are zipping up their suitcases and closing up the house before their vacation.

She feels an anxious excitement about being up so early and not knowing much about where she is going. They pack breakfast for the drive to the airport and she cannot wait to eat her muffin and fall asleep in the warm car. They load the suitcases in the trunk and her and Lauren bicker over who will get to rest their head in the middle seat. Her mother reminds them, "no fighting on vacation" and they settle. Her father always drives.

She is cold, tired, nervous, hungry, and excited - a very specific feeling she will have many times throughout her life. She will cherish these new, yet familiar moments.

Nineteen

She is riding her bike and her eyes begin to well. She does not know how she got here. Actually, she knows but thinking about it overwhelms her to tears. She thinks about all of the love in her life and in that moment being able to bike through a preserve by the ocean. She made it to sunny California and made a life here with Michael. This is moving, at least to her, and she feels the clean wind try to dry her eyes.

Eighteen

She thinks about herself as an extra in the world and plays a slide show in her head of her various castings.

In her mind, she slips the slides into their slots and enjoys the sound this makes. She places them in carefully. Sometimes sequentially and others randomly. It takes time both ways. Once they are in place, she turns on the projector to start the show.

The slides are stranger's pictures. Pictures with the intention of capturing a moment. She is not relevant to their memorable moment.

These pictures bring her joy because she likes looking at moments through someone else's lens. She thinks about what this person is inspired to capture. What is memorable to them or beautiful. It does not matter what she is doing in the background.

Since she has lived at the beach, she has accidentally run through a lot of photos. These aren't as exciting for her to view though. Most people take the same pictures at the beach. They pose in front of the sunset or the big houses on Ocean Drive. She prefers to look at the ones from when she lived in London and New York. She is wandering through Camden market. Or having a coffee at Balthazar. She remembers walking by the bronze bull outside her office every day.

The slide projector clicks. There is a flash on the wall. There is an excitement before the next image. She has lived the moment and now is a spectator. She pauses for reflection, then moves on.

Seventeen

The wave washes over her feet and pulls away. Sand slips from her heels but she stands in place. Her calves stretch. Seaweed laces her ankles. Her toes are numb but she will still stay regardless. She enjoys this feeling from the ocean that could not be manufactured easily by man. The sand holds on tight when she finally decides to pull out. Nature tugs at her and at everyone. She senses this, smiling and tugging back.

Sixteen

The wood arrives early Saturday morning for the new house on the corner. The foundation for the rooms underground is done and she sees wood beams have already been drilled in to begin assembling the first story's skeleton.

The rest of the neighborhood is quiet. The landscapers and other vendors will not be seen again until Monday. Four men are working on the new house today so it will be completed faster. She hopes it stays cool so they are comfortable. And hopes the owners will appreciate the house being ready sooner than a five day construction schedule would have allowed.

Fifteen

She is stretching after exercising on the stairs and one of the trainers tries talking to her. She is quite flexible and he keeps asking her if the positions hurt. She says no and politely comments about her past yoga practice and how that helped with her flexibility. She quietly slips into a backbend and feels each vertabra adjust. Some crack and pop. She loves feeling this happen and the rush of blood to her brain on the way up. She remembers from yoga how beneficial it is to flex the spine in this reverse direction.

She grabs hold of the metal railing to the stairs with both arms and straddles her legs to stretch her lower back, hamstrings, and calves. She swings slowly, her butt sticking out into the sidewalk. Grabbing the bar at about hips height, she remembers taking ballet as a girl. She loved to dance and tried hard to be the best in her classes. But her favorite ballet memory is of her father converting one of the rooms in their basement into a dance studio. He installed mirrored sliding closet doors, cleared out the entire room, bought a boombox, and even fixed a ballet bar to the wall. She never watched television or played video games. She sang and danced in her studio alone and with her sister and friends she invited over. They had a bin filled with leotards, ballet slippers, past recital outfits, and they would play for hours. She is thankful for this memory and circles her arms around her head, finishing her stretch with a random plie.

Fourteen

It is early and she goes for a bike ride. She listens to French jazz this time and peers through her new sunglasses at the fog ahead. Michael bought them for her yesterday. She rarely buys herself new things, especially if she already has something similar. Michael helps her with this and she loves him for all the little ways he changes her life.

Entering into the mist, her glasses get wet. She can no longer see through them so she wipes the lenses with her index finger. It does not help much, but the gesture makes her happy. She has no idea why.

She takes her regular route and looks out for any changes. A lot looks different today in the mist. She spots a tree she never paid attention to before. It stretches out of the landscape, where visibility teeters before the opaque cloud. Now she will notice this tree every ride.

Right before she reaches the parking lot where she turns around, she sees a bunny laying on his side in the sand by the path. He stays lounging peacefully as she rides past. She has never seen this before, usually the wildlife scurry a little. The thought of a bunny feeling lazy on a cloudy morning makes her smile.

Everything is sticking to the air. The freshly cut grass is her favorite. She sees a landscaper out and nods to him before taking a deep breath of the dewy, grassy air.

She arrives home. Now the sky is blue. A beautiful morning. She thinks it's too bad they slept through it.

Thirteen

She is an excellent student and listens to her teachers. The last girl in class to be scolded and the first to receive an honor. One day she is in line for the bus and talking to a friend. Ms. Tiano, who she later found out was anorexic and an alcoholic, screeches at her to behave herself and get back in line. Ms. Tiano blows her whistle and squeals,

"Shhhhh, no talking Sarah!!"

She is mortified.

She got yelled at.

Once.

By a woman who does not like children and should never have become a teacher.

This is unknown to her though and she cannot get over being reprimanded for acting out. She replays this lapse of perfection in the bus line in her head wondering why she was talking in the first place. She teaches herself the lesson to not speak to other students in the bus line. Even if a different teacher is on duty and all of her other friends are socializing. She has a new policy and now she will not get in trouble there again. This solution is extreme, yet it comforts her.

Twelve

She notices the other women are always talking. She, usually, is not. She watches them talk in cars and in salons. She hears them at the table next to her at a restaurant. Voices fill the air, but she rarely hears a notable remark. It's too bad because she loves words and wishes they were used more carefully.

Eleven

Every night her father sings to her. He rubs her back. This continues while she lives at home, even after most fathers stop touching their daughters. It is never uncomfortable for either. His voice is low and squeaky and he rubs her back over her bedshirt.

Little boy blue

Come blo-ow your horn

The sheeps in the meadow

The cows in the corn.

Where is the boy?

Who looks after the sheep

He's under the haystack

Fa-ast asleep

Then his own version they make up together one night when she starts taking piano lessons and loves to play.

Little girl pink

Come play your piano

The sheep's in the meadow

The cow's in the corn

Where is the girl

Who looks after the keys

She's in her bed

Fa-ast asleep

Then her father says, "I love you for eternity."

And she says, "I love you for eternity too."

He kisses her on the cheek and closes the door quietly. She is warm and still, trying hard to fall asleep. If she doesn't right away she will think of things that are black. And then think about how dark it must be inside something that is black, like a black purse. Her mind begins to wander and she usually falls asleep. If that trick fails, she will start counting backwards from 300. This isn't as creative an exercise, but it is almost foolproof. Morning comes quickly and she wakes to her alarm. It is cold many mornings, but she will always get out of bed.

Ten

Someone is building a house on the corner of her street and Ocean Boulevard. It's massive. Two floors of rooms below ground and two floors above consume the entire plot, stretching a block deep.

Every day she walks by the construction site and wonders why anyone would want that many rooms. And why would they want that much stuff to fill or decorate those rooms.

She doesn't want to hate anything, but she hates stuff.

Those rooms under ground are going to get no light. Not much living is going to go on there, especially when there will be at least ten rooms upstairs with ocean views. They will be stuff stuffed with stuff. She hates those rooms because they represent gluttony. Gluttony is depressing because it doesn't enable it's victims to learn a lesson. It's a strictly additive vice, unlike gambling which allows for gain, and, more importantly, loss.

Nine

Sometimes only the wind is with her when she exercises on the stairs. She breathes to three mantras. One is easy so she can still have other thoughts.

Hahm. Sah. A mind drum.

One is right in the middle. She is present in her exercise but her mind is still with its simple, soothing syllables.

Ohm. Namah. Shivah.

And the 3rd is two verses of lyrics to a song she is always abnormally moved by. When she considers that a woman not only composed this poetry, but then put it to music with her own arresting vocals, she is overwhelmed. She hears the two verses as music in her head. On occasion, the lyrics are heard in her own speaking voice.

This is how it works

You're young until you're not

You love until you don't

You try until you can't

You laugh until you cry

You cry until you laugh

And everyone must breathe

Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works

You peer inside yourself

You take the things you like

And try to love the things you took

And then you take that love you made

And stick it into some

Someone else's heart

Pumping someone else's blood

And walking arm in arm

You hope it don't get harmed

But even if it does

You'll just do it all again

It takes almost all of her concentration to do this correctly, which is important, otherwise she starts over. She is done with exercising and has soaked through her clothes again, unconsciously. She wonders about physicality and the power of hypnosis.

Eight

She looks young. When she speaks, they know she is not. It makes her happy when people listen. She is drawn to people who have the patience not to interrupt. And the faith not to judge.

One time she feels like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman". She walks into a bridal shop and no one addresses her, not even a "Good morning" from the two salespeople. She walks out and brings very good business to another shop two blocks down the street. Her father told her once "your life isn't a fairy tale" but that day it comes close.

Seven

Robert's hair is white and his skin is very tan. Almost the color of leather. He wears colorful oxford tee-shirts, like pink and baby blue. They make his hair look even lighter and skin darker. He walks in the morning and midday everyday. He turns around after the 3rd post at the driveway down to Little Corona beach. The posts are there to prevent visitor access by car. One day when she is walking with him she turns around at the first post. He carries on to the third and she slows down so he can catch up.

He walks on the sidewalk all of the way down to the other end of Ocean Boulevard. There is an entrance to a parking garage for a condo tower and a dead end. Not the most breathtaking section of the neighborhood, but the homes on the other side have beautiful views of the bay, peninsula, and the ocean. He turns around here and heads back the way he came. She has never seen what street he enters from and wonders what his exact route is and where he lives. He may even drive and park but she thinks this is not the case. His routine is too regular and frequent. She believes he lives nearby. This is encouraging because he is a sweet man. When he ends his walk at bench by her first set of stairs, he is always saying hi to the other neighbors. On his walks he rarely stops to talk. He keeps his pace and waves hello.

Robert is married and his wife does not walk with him. She knows she travels with him though because when he talks to her about restaurant recommendations in Las Vegas, he always mentions that he and his wife like to order appetizers and split an entree, if they are still hungry. He tells her they eat very small meals and like pinot noir. She remembers this and keeps a few places at the tip of her brain in case Robert asks. She is happy when she can make other people feel like she is thinking of them.

Robert talks like her great aunt, Teresa. She does not interpret this as an accent, but more like aristocratic, English-royalty inspired speech. When they say words like "what" they tighten their cheeks and gently blow the "wha" sound through. Almost all she can hear is the "t". She is unsure if they have always talked like this or if it is an old person's accent. Similar to the way a high school cheerleader may adjust her speech to sound like her peers. She practices her old person "wh" sound with "who, what, where, when, why" to prepare herself for a seemless transition.

Six

A tiny baby cries. Wails. Seat 20A filling the small space between his mother and the back of another seat. The surrounding rows of adults complain about the noise. They are uncomfortable. They've had their snacks and sodas. One of the 35 tv channels they can watch doesn't drown out this awful noise.

"She needs to get up and walk him."

"Rub whiskey on his gums."

"How can you take a baby on a 5 hour plane ride?"

She closes her eyes and listens to the screams. The tv audio is noise and this is sound. She breathes evenly as the random notes carry on. She does not have one of her own and can't be of much help. This baby is heard. Now he's quiet again. The plane hums.

Five

She wants to help people. Teach them a human can only be one place at one time. She can ask them questions and give advice on choosing places wisely.

She wants to look other humans in the eyes and smile. This is how you send love. She dreams she could listen to them breathe and know of their peaceful thoughts. She will make them a cup of hot tea or coffee. Then dance to their favorite song. She loves their lives in hope they may.

Four

They arrive at the condo. It is part of the Ritz hotel, close to Battery Park at the tip of New York City. It is art. Every room looks like the pictures in design magazines. It smells so clean. The children are sleeping and the babysitter leaves after he is paid.

She stands at the corner of the condo alone. Millions are getting ready for bed behind the huge glass windows. Others are working, but not most. The river is black, tucked in hours ago by the city lights. It is not her time to sleep.

This is her new family. She wants to understand this life in the sky. Eric, Michael's cousin, takes her upstairs to pick the wine, but he already knows what bottle they will have. She does not get to look at the collection. She could have studied it for hours, but he reaches for one.

"Have you had this?"

"Wow. No, but I have read about it many times. Very special wine."

"Then we need to have this."

They do not need this, but she appreciates the generosity and his sensitivity to her knowledge and love of wine. She opens the wine and prepares the glasses.

They are in the music room now. The speckled horizon waits while they play. Eric loves music too. She melts into Michael as she sips this lovely wine and listens to Louis Armstrong sing to her, to them. The purest sound ever heard from speakers. Eric asks for requests and gets very excited when he can gratify them almost instantly. He also makes his own selections. His eyes light up when his audience shares the same liking. Ester, Eric's wife, never joins us in the music room. The children stay sleeping.

Michael leaves and it is just Eric and her. She is wrapped in a blanket on the couch, smiling. He tells her Michael could never do any better, thinking that is a nice compliment. She understands what he means, but this isn't how she thinks about anything. But he always thinks about what is best. There is a penthouse in his building. There is a partner at his law firm. There is a 45 year old woman who loves music and being a mother. Michael returns and she kisses him and asks if he is also ready for bed.

Three

It is time for a bath with Lauren. They do not take baths every day, but more often then not. They play in the tub together with plastic cups and rubber toys. They splash, giggle, and wear big, wet smiles. The water is always warm and bubbly when they enter and gray and cloudy by the time they are done.

One bath she pretends she is drinking the dirty bath water with one of the cups. Young Lauren thinks her sister is swallowing, instead of secretly pouring it out, and she knows that. Lauren drinks cup for cup of the dirty bath water as she carries on the trick. She does not stop her. She does not want to help her little, naive, sister. It is wrong and she knows it, but continues.

Lauren vomits her dinner and dirty bath water the whole night. She is haunted by the moments she wanted bad things for her sister. The rest of her childhood she has a fear of throwing up.

Two

She likes to sweat from exercise. There are three sets of stairs in her neighborhood. A few times a week she carries out the following routine in a tee-shirt, hooded sweatshirt, and shorts (summer) or leggings (winter). Usually the tee-shirt and sweatshirt sleeves are soaked at the end. And her underwear, on a good day.

She runs down step by step and takes every other step up the first set of stairs. She does this four more times. There are xxx steps. They are one way to get from Ocean Boulevard to Corona Del Mar Beach. As one might imagine, this first set gets very crowded and sandy on the weekends during the summer.

She takes water and walks a hundred yards to the second set. These steps are more shallow than the first and she always thinks about this set as the "easy" one. They lead to a driveway for a house by a tiny beach called China Cove, which no one really knows about. When you get to the bottom, it looks like you are trespassing so that really keeps foot traffic, and sand, away. She goes up and down five times again, but now keeping her arms circled over her head like a ballerina on the way up. It looks strange, but it's usually what gets the sweat to break. If she's not sweating by the fourth time up, she gets worried she's not well.

She takes water again, squatting to lift it up, and heads to the third set of xxx stairs. She goes up and down ten times then returns to the second, then the first set, to complete her regimen. She will have gone up and down each set ten times. But the third set always feels long.

Trainers take their clients there so these stairs are usually busy with other exercisers and sometimes other people looking to cardio to their walking route. This "double" set always goes by faster when she listens to other people's conversations.

"What kind of dog is that?"

"A Karen, with a really bad haircut"

The thought of a dog getting a bad haircut has never crossed her mind before.

"Honey, you should do that."

A man says to his wife who has birthed and raised three children. She thinks his wife should do what she wants. If he wants her to get in better shape, using a twenty six year old dripping in sweat from exercising on the stairs as an example is inconsiderate. She thinks his wife might feel bad about her appearance now and she feels bad. Why couldn't he have just said "we" should do that?

When people ask her what she's training for she smiles and says "Tomorrow." This is funny to her.

One

She walks on the sidewalk of Ocean Boulevard twice every day when she first moves. In the morning and right around sunset. She looks everyone she passes in the eye, acknowledging her new neighbors. In the morning she softly says "Morning" and bobbs her head slightly. This is how they do it and she learns quickly. At night, no one says much. Sometimes she nods her head and whispers "Hi". It sounds more like an audible, rushed exhale.

A few weeks pass and, finally, someone speaks to her. His name is Glen and his dog's name is Becky. Glen is tall and jolly looking with white hair and rosy cheeks. Becky is an older platinum Labrador. She notices them walking around sunset time daily. Glen knows a lot of people who also walk on Ocean Boulevard, most of them other dog owners who he stops to chat with. She does not have a dog or she would have met almost all of them on her first walk. One evening, Becky noses her leg as she walks past. She gives a smile and head nod to Glen. She stops, Becky pausing alongside her, and peers into his gentle eyes and says "Hello." She reaches down to pet Becky. Glen introduces his dog, then himself much later.

"Hi, this is Becky. She's very friendly."

She kneels down now to see eye to eye with Becky. Now she can see the uneven patches of fur on her belly and legs.

"She is. Hi Becky! You are beautiful. And so happy!"

She continues to pet Becky, even though she really does not like dogs that much. She looks up to Glen and notices his eyes have welled up.

"She's eight years old and is sick now. She's having a lot of surgeries. Becky's seen the sunset everyday since she was my little puppy. Even now, she still makes it out."

"She's a fortunate dog. I just moved out here and this is the first time in my life I've been able to watch a sunset like this. I call it my nightly date with the sun."

He chuckles and says "Well, I'm sure we'll be seeing you around."

Before he can walk away with Becky she quickly says, "Yes," she smiles "and I'm Sarah, it's nice to meet you."

He turns around. "Glen," he nodded his head, "nice meeting you too."

She has one friend.