Tuesday I came home from work and sat down with Melissa. We said hello, hugged and kissed, then shared a glass of wine. No worries, just together. We left our apartment an hour later that night at 7:30, turned onto Pacific Coast Highway and started to drive. It’s like we’re living again being pulled down this golden stretch of highway, ocean to the left and motels to the right.
At stop lights kids on beach cruisers cross, a woman walks her dog, a surfer even. All these people going somewhere and somehow We’re here.
Street signs woosh past; Magnolia, Warner, Main, Seaport. Bolsa Chica state beach outside of Huntington. The smell of campfires lingers in the misty setting sun, pavement rolls under us towards Sunset Beach where a little italian restaurant called Roman Cucina awaits for dinner.
She had the scampi, I had the pesto.
On our way home, as if it had traded places with the sun, the moon burned red against the dark sky magnified by the horizon. No worries, just together. Somehow, this. Our reality.