San Francisco, I Still Love You In My Dreams
romance unannounced, a story about a unicorn, cheese fries, ghost flower perfume
Romance, Unexpected
Revolution Cafe, San Francisco, from long ago
Romance is rarely where and when you expect to find it, not the real kind at least. I had a boyfriend in college who bought me Audrey Hepburn DVDs and fancy chocolates and the most expensive wine he could afford and I couldn’t have cared less. But give me an eccentric cash only cafe with live music and a San Francisco blue sky and a man ten years my junior who had the glasses of sangria ready and waiting when we arrived and that is the memory that haunts me, all these years later. It’s weird how some people can do all the right things and it doesn’t matter. And then other people you simply like what they have to say. You like the way they are. You love their essence. The way they talk. How they move through the world. Guys on apps message all the time demanding to know what you want. Would anyone ever say they want someone toxic and evil? It’s hard to know exactly what it is that makes us fall for someone. Sometimes they open up a secret door inside of us. Sometimes we want to be them, or at least take on parts of their lifestyle or career. Other times they make us feel safe. Or wild. Or whatever it is we think we can’t feel anymore on our own. That day in San Francisco, we were in the freest state of being. I didn’t have a job or a clue or an expectation for how anything was supposed to play out. It was a surprise that he was handsome. And that he was thoughtful. We didn’t even talk to each other. Our extroverted mutual friend was running the show. Still, being around him lit some flame inside me. I felt excited. Like the moments we were collaborating on together mattered. We drank our sangria and then we went to sit together in the park. The mutual friend recited the reasons she loved me, which I liked having him hear. We walked through the Mission. The neighborhood was so alive. Some dude who looked like the Monopoly Man was out in his garage. He was blasting Take My Breath Away and washing his car. That car was his one true love. We stopped and talked to him. Then, we went out to dinner, and out again to dive bars. The next day, we got margaritas at a taco restaurant when the Monopoly Man walked in. He bought himself a margarita, picked up an older woman. Later, we saw him out in the city, cruising around in his fancy car with his date. San Francisco was wild like that. So many people out living their own private fantasies. No one bats an eye. Dance on the street in assless leather chaps. Eat salted caramel ice cream on a park bench. Go out for spaghetti at a shack with silvery unicorns painted on the walls. The cafe has since closed down. The connections have all faded. And the city is not anything like what it was. But the thing about magical things is that once they vanish, they almost always reappear in a different form. Maybe in the future, when robots rule and AI takes over most jobs, we’ll need each other to provide exactly this: tiny glimpses at humanity, at romance, at the seemingly mundane moments that prove to be the most magical even when everything else about the memory falls apart.
Fiction: Something So Enchanted
Nicholas Brunswick believed you didn’t have to try hard for magic to find you. It wasn't necessary to venture into the Amazon or travel to the Great Pyramids in Egypt. You didn’t need be famous. Or give up everything you loved about yourself for a chance to be liked. For Nicholas, the truest forms of magic were available to those who looked, anyone who held the pure desire for beauty and refused to let it go. Nicholas wasn’t rich or popular but he carried magic in his heart. And those who carried magic in their hearts saw it everywhere they went.
Throughout his forty years on earth, Nicholas had remained almost exactly the same as he had been as a boy. He never drank a sip of alcohol, or raised a single cigarette to his lips. He said no to drugs and never slept with anyone, not that anyone was even interested. Most of Nicholas’ relationships never made it past the friendship phase. He didn’t seem to mind much. Love was too scary, putting all your faith in someone who could wake up one day and decide that they didn’t want you anymore. Nicholas was rarely ever tempted by vices. He found it easy to say no, to be nothing but himself. Never once did he wish to be anyone else.
Nicholas lived in a small old wooden house made mostly of windows that looked out into the forest. Sometimes, it was lonely living all alone, but the changing seasons kept him company. He loved the crisp air in the fall and how the yellow leaves would sway electric on chilly October nights. In the winter months, everything in the forest turned to ice, even the apples, which hung off the trees like glossy crystal orbs. But the cold didn’t last forever. Soon, came the pinks and greens of spring. And summer time was even brighter, all blue sky and endless light. Summer was Nicholas’ favorite season. He loved the musky smell of the lake and the green fireflies and the three deer who visited his flower garden at twilight. His wasn’t a particularly glamorous existence, but it suited him.
Nicholas worked part time at Barnes' Books, the local used book store. He liked the selection of old comics best of all. And the fact that the quaint shop refused to play any music which made it easier to get lost inside a good book. Barnes’ Books was the quietest place in town, even quieter than the public library where sometimes the children screamed and raced through the stacks and random bums would sing out loud and off key with their headphones. There was absolutely no organization in Barnes Books. Books were everywhere. No one cared to catalog the dated romances or arrange the yellowing fantasy paperbacks or shelve the cookbooks found in cluttered heaps. Like the thrift stores in town, rewards went to those who took the time to dig, to search, to scour the stacks for the titles that spoke to their souls. No one knew what was there and that was part of the fun. Sometimes, Nicholas had nightmares about the books. He dreamt they came out of the walls and tumbled down from the ceiling, suffocating him in his sleep. Often, he would wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and paralyzed with fear. Maybe it was wrong to spend so much time stuck in someone else’s story, yet still, Nicholas had always had this strange feeling that the story he had been waiting to live had never quite begun.
People in town found Nicholas strange. They didn’t understand why he wasn’t married. He wasn’t awful looking. Yes, he was tall and rangy, with too big eyes and a sci-fi writer’s sloppy hair style, but his appearance wasn’t completely unfortunate in any way. The townspeople also didn’t understand why he preferred to keep to himself, never going out for any reason other than groceries. Nicholas had the unconventional features of someone people made up stories about. Maybe he was gay. Maybe he had a learning disability. Maybe he had been abused as a child. It seemed beyond the realm of anyone’s comprehension that Nicholas actually enjoyed his solitude, that he found better company on the pages of dog eared books and the soft glow of July moonlight than he did in most people.
When Nicholas was seventeen he fell in love for the first time. Eliza Duncan was the daughter of a pastor. She had kind eyes and tanned skin that radiated good health and smelled of strawberry body lotion and baby oil. Eliza came into Barnes Books and bought dozens of pastel colored paperback romance novels for twenty five cents a piece.
“I have to hide these from my dad,” Eliza said, blushing. “He thinks they’re trash.”
It was nothing more than a brief interaction, but it was enough to make Nicholas dream. Reading so many books gave him an incredible imagination and Nicholas loved nothing more than daydreaming about Eliza during the odd hours he spent all alone working behind the counter at Barnes Books. Nicholas’ thoughts about Eliza were mostly innocent: he wanted to know what kind of exercise she liked best and if she had any siblings and whether or not she saw herself living in Prescott Falls forever. Every time he saw a romance novel his thoughts drifted back to her. He thought about her long blonde hair and the tiny diamond earrings she wore and if she was a private romantic, just like he was.
One night Nicholas was out on a late night walk when he saw Eliza. His heart pounded in his chest. Whenever he was nervous he rehearsed conversations in his head. Even though you could never fully plan where a conversation would go it helped Peter to at least imagine topics they could talk about. He could say something about the weather. People in Prescott Falls loved to talk about the weather. It wasn’t the most riveting topic of conversation but at least he would get to hear her voice again. Eliza spoke with genuine enthusiasm, like she was revealing a great big secret she couldn’t believe she was confessing. She also seemed far more outgoing than he was, which wasn’t saying much. Still, something about her energy propelled him forward. Being around her gave him a certain courage that he lacked.
“Doesn’t it hurt to walk around in those shoes all day?” Nicholas asked.
Eliza looked down at her heeled boots. “Not really. They’re actually comfortable.”
“You came into Barnes Books the other day.”
Eliza wrinkled her brow. “I haven't been in that store for months.”
“You bought romance novels.”
Eliza crossed her arms tight against her chest. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“I’m Nicholas. I work in the book store.”
“Sorry, I have to go. I’m meeting someone.”
Eliza gave him a sad half smile, and then turned to walk away, crossing the street and leaving him all alone. Peter replayed the conversation over and over in his head. He regretted saying anything. Real life never lived up to his daydreams. It had proven much safer to incubate relationships in his head, to keep them at a distance. People were complicated. One minute they were kind and pleasant, the next cold and disconnected. In his fantasies, Nicholas’ love interests were never quite as unpredictable. It was easy to be happy together. They would go on leisurely picnics in the gardens and eat cheesecake for breakfast and take walks to identify the birds.
After Eliza, no one new caught Peter’s attention. Seasons changed. Years went by. Nicholas learned to source his romance from activities, not from other people. He read graphic novels before falling asleep, ran the odd errand for his mother, topped his ricotta toast with fresh strawberries. He bought a bike and rode it all over town. Some nights, he fixed himself a turkey sandwich on rye bread and ate it at the edge of the dock. In the fall, Nicholas booked himself a trip to New Orleans and went for walks through the cemeteries. When he heard jazz music playing from a rundown bar with a black rabbit painted on the door, he went inside and listened to the whole concert all by himself.
Sometimes, magic comes so quickly \ that when you look back, it all can seem like a dream. It was wild to believe that after so much blankness and lonesome quiet and foolish dreaming, something so enchanted could finally be true.
Tuesday night and Nicholas was washing dishes. He liked washing dishes. The soapy warm bubbles, the meditative routine. The simple chore soothed him. Nicholas’ kitchen faced the forest and he often opened the windows and stared out into the endless green. Nicholas reached for the sponge and saw the creature. She was impossible to miss. Moon white and shaped more like a deer than a wild horse. A single horn protruded from her forehead. Nicholas dropped the sponge and ran to get his camera. When he returned, the unicorn was gone.
The next day at work, Nicholas could not get the unicorn out of his mind. He sat behind the desk at Barnes Books and sketched out what he had seen. He couldn’t stop drawing her likeness. He wanted to tell everyone but worried people would think him insane. He wondered if for the rest of his life he would dwell on this single moment. He had heard about that happening before. One man in Virginia claimed to have seen aliens. No one believed him but he could never erase the memory. It was all he thought about. He became a great painter, using the cloak of fantasy art to express the very strange experiences that now consumed him. Maybe that was what had happened with all of the artists Nicholas admired so much. All fantastical things had to come from somewhere.
When he was back home again, Nicholas pushed a chair up to the window and ate his dinner in front of it. If he saw her once, there was a chance he could see her again. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to see her again. The unicorn was no different than Eliza. Possibly even worse. If he were very lucky he would see her, admire her beauty, and she would disappear. But somehow, it was enough to know they were both living in the moment, alone together in the same forgotten forest. The thought filled him with a wild sense of comfort. Nicholas forked himself another bite of pasta and watched the trees. He wondered if the unicorn had a relationship with any of the other creatures in the forest. Probably not. Unicorns were a solitary breed. They didn’t travel in packs like wolves, or huddle together in a nest like the robins. They were so unique, so strange, so entirely and absolutely different from any other being who dwelled in the forest. Unicorns were not animal in the way that Nicholas so often felt not human. He had gone for so long without any real meaningful connection that he began to identify more with the unicorn than with the towns folk who came into Barnes Books. He felt safe in his idea of the unicorn. Unicorns didn’t judge anyone. They also didn’t need anyone. They had taught themselves how to be in the world without subscribing to the illusion of belonging.
Nicholas’ phone vibrated from the table. The only person who ever checked in on him other than his mother was his friend Jacob from high school. Nicholas wished he were more like Jacob. Jacob sourced energy from social interactions. He was charming and charismatic and able to tell people the things they wanted to hear. Whenever Nicholas tried to be more like Jacob it always seemed so fake. Jacob was married, with kids and too many friends. He had a successful career flipping houses but he still wanted more people in his life. His hunger for new energy was insatiable. Months ago, he had opened up his marriage with the promise to his wife that none of his new connections would be physical.
“I want to know people,” Jacob explained to her. “It seems a waste to live on this beautiful planet with eight million different people and devote all your energy to loving only one person.”
Nicholas couldn’t understand his logic. All his life he had been searching and dreaming and thinking about that one person. A best friend, a soul mate, a partner for life. He thought it was the most romantic thing: growing old with the same person, committing yourself to loving that person day after day, year after year.
“What are you doing tonight?” Jacob asked. He was always texting last minute plans, but because they had been so close it didn’t matter. They had known each other since they were kids. Jacob knew Nicholas had no other friends. There was no reason to play it formal.
Nicholas stared at his phone. He didn’t want to tell Jacob that he was sitting by his window waiting for a unicorn to appear. Jacob would think he was insane. Instead, he made up an excuse. “I have to work on something for the book store.”
“Come out,” Jacob said. “Let’s get a drink.”
Usually Jacob wanted to go to noisy sports bars, which Nicholas hated. Sports bars gave him a headache. Sometimes going to bars gave him PTSD. They reminded him of the jocks that had bullied him in high school. Nicholas couldn’t understand what was appealing about crowded spaces and too many TVs but he never voiced his opinion because he already knew no one else would understand. Nicholas was relieved when Jacob suggested Betty’s, an old restaurant on Marque Lake typically frequented by the elderly. Nicholas agreed.
Jacob was already waiting at a table by the time Nicholas arrived.
“Check out the new girl,” Jacob said. “She has blue in her hair.”
Nicholas looked around the restaurant to see who his friend was talking about. Jacob knew all the wait staff by name. Like most extroverts, he believed that everyone he met found him to be as charming as he found himself. Jacob would crack jokes, lavish the wait staff with attention, and generally behave as if he were running for town mayor. When they were younger, Nicholas envied his friend’s outgoing behavior. It was intoxicating to receive so much attention. Whenever he went out by himself he never met anyone.
The girl was tall and willowy. Her white blonde hair with blue streaks made her look otherworldly, more like a character in an anime than a busser at an American restaurant. Nicholas tried not to stare but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was wiping down a table in the back of Betty’s and looked horribly out of place. He couldn’t explain why but he felt a connection with her almost immediately. Misfits in Prescott Falls were rare. Most everyone did everything they could to belong.
“She’s beautiful,” Nicholas blurted.
“I don’t like that alternative look,” Jacob said.
Jacob told him stories about the various women he was talking to. Nicholas nodded along, keeping his gaze on the white blonde woman. He had never seen anyone so lost in their own world before. She didn’t even notice him watching her. She was completely transfixed in her own energy, fully occupied with her task of wiping down the tables. For a split second, Nicholas and the woman made eye contact. He recognized the wild look in her eyes from somewhere, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
“Can I clear these plates?”
The woman’s voice was soft and feminine, almost comically so. It made him think of chivalry and fairy tales, of swords and knights and wax sealed love letters written in the dark by candlelight. Nicholas couldn’t speak. He handed his plate over to her.
“You live in the woods, don’t you? In the old wooden cottage?”
Nicholas felt he would pass out. “I do.”
She smiled and walked away.
“Do you know her?” Jacob asked.
Nicholas was too stunned to speak. The corners of his mouth curled up and he felt the smallest hint of electricity rising up from inside his chest. The small interaction had animated him, brought him a sudden and unexpected source of life. He hadn’t experienced anything like that since Eliza. “I don’t think so.”
Nicholas rode his bike home. The colors of the forest looked different tonight. Brighter, maybe. The sunset was turning a deeper shade of red as he made his way down the long dirt road. He didn’t realize it at first, but he had started to hum. Softly at first, then with an increased tempo. Nicholas parked his bicycle at the end of his driveway.
She was there again, this time whiter and thinner and more beautiful than ever before. Nicholas recognized the wild look in her eyes right away. He stood there, paralyzed. Watching, waiting until finally, she ran away back into the woods. Nicholas did a little skip, then he went into his house and got ready for bed.
Cheese Fries
One of my first jobs was at a steakhouse. I was sixteen years old. My best friend got me the job. Our uniform was a pair of khakis and a denim shirt. We bussed the tables and unloaded the trays and at the end of the night, the servers tipped us out. I felt so rich walking out of that restaurant every night. I used to keep all my cash in my dresser drawer. I probably made more money at that job than I did writing books or working at the library but it was hard work. And you left the place reeking of meat.
Last night, we went back for dinner. It hadn’t changed at all. We sat outside and drank white wine and ate loaded cheese fries dipped in ranch dressing. They still tasted the same as they did all those years ago.
Venus Days: ALTRA’s Ghost Flower perfume
This perfume smells like a metaphysical shop. It’s witchy and spiritual and wonderful. I like to apply it and go into the library, stealing sniffs when I’m in the stacks.
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