And so. Two weeks ago, on a beautiful autumn day, a friend drove me to... well, Montpelier no longer has a bus station. To the Town Hall, where the bus now comes to a brief stop. I boarded, surveyed rows of truculent-looking passengers who clearly did not want the seat next to them occupied by anyone other than, er, them, imposed myself on a 20-something woman who cleared her things from the seat at her side with good grace, and headed south, rolling mountains covered with autumn colors providing beautiful scenery beneath dramatic skies. Five long hours later, another friend –- S. -- picked me up in front of the station in Boston -- the air noticeably warmer than up north, late afternoon shadows of tall buildings slanting across streets busy with rush hour traffic.
Got dragged over to Coolidge Corner and up to the new offices of G., S.'s sweetie, to hang about until G. was ready to go. G.'s office overlooks a small terrace, I went out there to enjoy the view before the evening light bled away. A short time later, back in G.'s office, I noticed a large bird out on the wall at the end of the terrace -- a red-tailed hawk, watching the comings and goings in the parking lot below. I let S. know, she began calling to G. loudly -- the hawk remained, unbothered by voices, office lights, movement. Watching everything, turning to observe us now and then. I tried taking photos, the glare of office lights off the windows torpedoed the possibility of getting a good image. The hawk finally spotted something down below and went after it, dropping out of sight.
G. -- liver of a spiritual life -- said that she'd been asking for a sign that the new offices were a good place for her to be. I know some Native Americans who would say that hawk was the answer to that request. Or it could simply have been an unexpected encounter with an impressive being. Either way, I liked it.
Shared a long dinner of killer Indian chow with G. and S., then spent the night at their flat in Cambridge. Dragged myself out of bed the next morning, acted like a responsible adult and took care of things needing to be done. (Found two good cheap shirts at Oona's Experienced Clothing -- woo-hoo!)
Subway station escalators -- Cambridge, Massachusetts:
Got driven to the airport (a huge freakin' luxury after years of dragging travel bags through various subway lines to get there). Ran the luggage-search gauntlet, waited patiently, found myself on a plane as the sun disappeared behind Boston skyscrapers. Hours later, after a night of no sleep, found myself riding a bus in the early morning darkness of Madrid, on the way to Avenida de América to hop the Metro. When I emerged from under the ground in el Barrio de la Concepción, light was swelling in the eastern sky, the cafeterías to the side of that plaza were jumping with people gearing up for the day.
Three or four weeks earlier, I'd swapped emails with the friend who lives in a flat that overlooks the plaza, letting him know I was returning after a year and a half away. He and his sweetie offered a bedroom, I let them know when I'd be arriving, everything seemed to be set. During my last few days in the States I'd had the vague, nagging feeling that it might be a good idea to send an email and re-confirm. I usually pay attention to impulses like that, but I had so much to do during those last few pre-bolting days and our email communications had seemed so clear. This time I shrugged off that gentle tap on the shoulder, ignored the prudent impulse.
And as I stood at of the entrance of their building, waiting for a response to the buzzer -- a wait that stretched on and on -- I began to worry. I poked at the buzzer again, pondering how obnoxiously early the hour was to be calling at someone's door, beginning to feel a combination of blossoming guilt at the possibility that I might be dragging friends out of a comfortable, warm bed at an unkind hour and blossoming worry that they might not be home, might have forgotten entirely about my arrival.
A sleepy voice finally spoke from the buzzer-box's tinny speaker. My friend, J. -- home, but yes, pulled out of bed at an unkind hour by some jackoff from overseas. Turned out that they had not understood exactly when I'd be arriving, had expected me the previous day, wondered if I'd missed my flight or what. They let me in, met me in bathrobes, looking sleepy but wearing kind smiles, adjusting quickly to the reality of having me there. They introduced me to my bedroom and to the two household cats (one went immediately into hiding). They pulled together a nice breakfast, we sat and spent a long time eating/talking. Despite a night entirely without sleep (screaming baby, seat in front of me all the way back [meaning practically in my lap -- note to airline economy travelers: when you put your seat all the way back, YOU ARE MAKING LIFE DIFFICULT FOR THE PERSON BEHIND YOU. GET A CLUE.], my bod unable to find the moment or position to snooze), I seemed to be functioning pretty well. Went out, picked up newspapers. J. went to work, leaving me with his sweetie, C. -- a psychiatrist, smart and capable -- who chatted with me, made things to eat, treated me well.
[this entry in progress]
España, te amo
rws 7:30 AM [+]
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