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| Source: Viviana Rishe through www.unsplash.com |
There are many places Avery wishes she’d rather be now, things she could do — doing touch-up while waiting for the traffic in I-10 to move, at home, binge-watching Netflix for a whole day, or at her interview — everything under the convenience of an air conditioner.
Finding herself wandering aimlessly in the wide strip of walkway stretching along the Venice beach isn’t one, especially after what happened.
She clenches her eyes tight. Tina Sanchez’s sing-song voice is still vivid in her head. In fact, it’s been playing for hours.
“I’m afraid we have to reschedule.”
The I-10 was congested worse than usual and the phone call wasn’t what she expected, especially when she was headed to the interview Sanchez had set up for her.
Finding herself wandering aimlessly in the wide strip of walkway stretching along the Venice beach isn’t one, especially after what happened.
She clenches her eyes tight. Tina Sanchez’s sing-song voice is still vivid in her head. In fact, it’s been playing for hours.
“I’m afraid we have to reschedule.”
The I-10 was congested worse than usual and the phone call wasn’t what she expected, especially when she was headed to the interview Sanchez had set up for her.
When Avery heard the HR’s collected tone over the phone, Avery’s dreams disintegrated. The once-solid expectation she has built ever since she was in high school crumbles into pieces. She remembered the days she binge-watched TED Talk videos on YouTube and how she longed to be one of those people who stood on the stage, looking like they’re on top of the world, and talking subjects from as trivial as “How to Wake up Early” to “Solving Brains’ Biggest Mysteries”. Their charisma radiated through the screen: it drew Avery in. Ever since, she spent most of her time in front of her mirror pretending to be a speaker, her intonation mimicking those she heard on the talks.
She’d been brushing up on her skills ever since she was enrolled in her campus’ PR program. (The absence of Faculty of TED Talks led her to picking up PR. Everybody has to start from somewhere, right?)
The interview is supposed to provide her a door to her dreams, but it shut before letting Avery take a peek inside. Worse, all it took was just a single phone call. A sugarcoated rejection, typical. To say it’s a rejection may be an overstatement but, the truth is she may never hear back from Sanchez after today.
The conversation that followed was a series of pleas. Avery tried to earn the former’s pity by not only emphasizing that she had been driving for forty miles from Santa Clarita (she only drove to LA only on important occasions. She tried not to deal much with the infamous congestion and the road rages), but the job she’s applying for is one of her chances. An opportunity that finally lets her speak in public. But Sanchez had made up her mind, and the door was shut closed for Avery, blowing her rare occasion of driving to LA.
The temperature in her car rose by two degrees despite the AC after Sanchez hung up. The scorching August heat from the outside came seeping in. Avery ignored the liquid particles trickling out of her pores and the chorus of cars honking penetrating her ears.
“Fake asses,” she cursed under her breath.
That’s enough to send her phone flying out of her hand and landing in the back seat with a thud. The same impulse that victimized the phone then steered her off the congested freeway and took her westbound. She didn’t think. Arcade Fire’s Electric Blue blasted from her radio. It was not necessarily her jam, but she turned it up instead. It’s the least she could do to put her at ease and drive on…
The memory disintegrates; she lets the Pacific Ocean take it away. The sun sits at the highest position of the day. Avery strolls as she tries to pick up the pieces she’s lost, watching the street musicians, breakdancers, performers, and magicians lining one side of the street, tattoo parlors and souvenir stores on the other. She drops a dime into one of the performers’ buckets.
Ignoring her throbbing feet, aching from the drive and long walk, she buys herself a fish taco. She then plops herself down onto the concrete steps that border the strip to the beach. Along the shoreline, the waves roll, crash, and dissolve into bubbles, a soda-like hissing sound when they hit the sand.
Someone pokes at her shoulder. Turning, she finds a pair of brown eyes twinkling at her. She remembers the dime she dropped into the bucket and recalls it belongs to that of a magician. Dark curly hair, brown eyes, the same magician is sitting beside her, munching on a plastic-wrapped hotdog.
When Avery finishes her taco, she feels a sudden thirst kicking in. Should’ve bought a water with the taco. Before long, the magician pokes her shoulders. He raises his eyebrows.
“Water,” Avery tells him. “I’m getting it. You want one?”
He doesn’t respond and she’s about to accuse the guy of being rude then his hands rise in the air, fingers dancing, circling, twirling in a way of creating a form. A language. Guilt sweeps her.
“Oh, sorry, I…” Avery waves her hand. She didn’t know. “I don’t sign”
His hands speak again. Avery has always been a talker, but this method of communication isn’t one she’s familiar with.
“Water.” She mimics a drinking gesture this time. “I’m getting water. See? Here?”
Her finger points at him and repeats the drinking again. His mouth falls open. An inaudible ‘ah’ escapes out of it. He then gets up and strides away.
“Wait! Wait — ”
Avery’s mouth snaps shut. There’s no use in calling out to him, but the sight of the brown duffel the magician left behind assures her that he’s not going anywhere far. Shortly, he returns with two bottles of water. He hands one to Avery.
She’s about to fish out some cash but he stops her. Instead, he draws a worn-out moleskin from his bag. Avery expects flowers and bunnies to emerge from within its pages (as a magician’s book would), but the pages are empty. He draws a pen out and begins to write.
Twenty more dimes for water
Avery chuckles. One communication problem is solved, and it comes with a sense of humor as a bonus. She takes the pen.
Magic secrets in book?
The magician takes the book from her hands and raises a finger. Wait. He withdraws a deck of playing cards from his bag and divides it in two. The cards glide in a flash, leaving a faint trail of shapes and numbers lingering in the air. He stops and pulls a card out of the deck. Queen of Diamonds stares back at Avery. He shuffles another round and comes to a stop, tapping at the top card. Avery picks it up. The Queen of Diamonds.
Her eyes widen. It’s a simple trick but somehow, seeing it up close, is still surreal. She is transported in memory back to the first grade, witnessing a similar trick at a friend’s birthday party. Clapping her hands, she finds a delight in this trivial thing that makes her smile. She picks up the abandoned pen and writes on the moleskin pages.
Any rabbits inside?
She points to his duffel bag.
Five dollars. He scribbles.
“Are you ripping me off? Sir, I bet you are,” she blurts out, forgetting the barrier that gets in the way, but the conversation has made that invisible now.
The magician watches her and shakes his head, letting out a throaty laughter. He reaches inside his bags and produces more magic paraphernalia. Still no bunnies, but the flowers that emerge out of a handkerchief makes up for it.
* * *
The sun is inching into the horizon, casting blinding, stark rays towards the beach. The warm air hangs low. Everything around Avery turns gold-yellow. A couple of surfers embrace the tall waves in the distance.
The magician gestures her to come closer to the water. She draws back, fearing the water will soak her linen pants. His hands wave at her as he exposes his feet to the crashing waves. Avery has no choice. She folds the pants up to her knees and follows. The incoming little waves crumble between her toes and they go still for a split second before the current pulls them back to the ocean.
An odd feeling sweeps Avery when the water retreats into the sea, as if it’s lifting things away and out of her — the traffic, the heat, Tina Sanchez. Her heart, once heavy, gains the lightness it longs for, and her worries are put to rest for now.
Avery walks further until the water reaches her knee. A slight rough wave crashes beneath her, soaking the pants she’d properly laundered and sprayed with a lavender scent for today’s interview. She squeals. The magician lets out a laugh and she is surprised by the laughter in her joining his.
The colors around Avery soften and the sky has lost its brightness — displaying gradients of pink and gold. She glances at the row of low buildings, housing the tattoo parlor and souvenir shops, where the last traces of sun creep away from the walls, darkness looming. Beyond those buildings, Santa Clarita is calling. She throws another look at the magician.
When she’s getting out of the water, he says nothing back, not orally, but rather facially. His jaw tightens. The very first smile that welcomes her to Venice, to LA, earlier in the afternoon. Halfway up the beach, she turns back. She’s heard of those stories about people, those trying to get something back by returning to it, only to find it with them, all the time.
His tall figure disappears. She can barely make out his tall frame take off with his duffel bag through the dusky colors as she walks away.
When Avery finds a piece of ticket slipped in her wiper, she doesn’t even complain. She’s only ready to face the traffic again now her lost pieces are found and mended — not as whole as before, but still, functional. The pink sky is visible through her rearview mirror as she steals another glance before her gaze is fixated forward. She presses her soles gently on the pedal and drives on…
She’d been brushing up on her skills ever since she was enrolled in her campus’ PR program. (The absence of Faculty of TED Talks led her to picking up PR. Everybody has to start from somewhere, right?)
The interview is supposed to provide her a door to her dreams, but it shut before letting Avery take a peek inside. Worse, all it took was just a single phone call. A sugarcoated rejection, typical. To say it’s a rejection may be an overstatement but, the truth is she may never hear back from Sanchez after today.
The conversation that followed was a series of pleas. Avery tried to earn the former’s pity by not only emphasizing that she had been driving for forty miles from Santa Clarita (she only drove to LA only on important occasions. She tried not to deal much with the infamous congestion and the road rages), but the job she’s applying for is one of her chances. An opportunity that finally lets her speak in public. But Sanchez had made up her mind, and the door was shut closed for Avery, blowing her rare occasion of driving to LA.
The temperature in her car rose by two degrees despite the AC after Sanchez hung up. The scorching August heat from the outside came seeping in. Avery ignored the liquid particles trickling out of her pores and the chorus of cars honking penetrating her ears.
“Fake asses,” she cursed under her breath.
That’s enough to send her phone flying out of her hand and landing in the back seat with a thud. The same impulse that victimized the phone then steered her off the congested freeway and took her westbound. She didn’t think. Arcade Fire’s Electric Blue blasted from her radio. It was not necessarily her jam, but she turned it up instead. It’s the least she could do to put her at ease and drive on…
The memory disintegrates; she lets the Pacific Ocean take it away. The sun sits at the highest position of the day. Avery strolls as she tries to pick up the pieces she’s lost, watching the street musicians, breakdancers, performers, and magicians lining one side of the street, tattoo parlors and souvenir stores on the other. She drops a dime into one of the performers’ buckets.
Ignoring her throbbing feet, aching from the drive and long walk, she buys herself a fish taco. She then plops herself down onto the concrete steps that border the strip to the beach. Along the shoreline, the waves roll, crash, and dissolve into bubbles, a soda-like hissing sound when they hit the sand.
Someone pokes at her shoulder. Turning, she finds a pair of brown eyes twinkling at her. She remembers the dime she dropped into the bucket and recalls it belongs to that of a magician. Dark curly hair, brown eyes, the same magician is sitting beside her, munching on a plastic-wrapped hotdog.
When Avery finishes her taco, she feels a sudden thirst kicking in. Should’ve bought a water with the taco. Before long, the magician pokes her shoulders. He raises his eyebrows.
“Water,” Avery tells him. “I’m getting it. You want one?”
He doesn’t respond and she’s about to accuse the guy of being rude then his hands rise in the air, fingers dancing, circling, twirling in a way of creating a form. A language. Guilt sweeps her.
“Oh, sorry, I…” Avery waves her hand. She didn’t know. “I don’t sign”
His hands speak again. Avery has always been a talker, but this method of communication isn’t one she’s familiar with.
“Water.” She mimics a drinking gesture this time. “I’m getting water. See? Here?”
Her finger points at him and repeats the drinking again. His mouth falls open. An inaudible ‘ah’ escapes out of it. He then gets up and strides away.
“Wait! Wait — ”
Avery’s mouth snaps shut. There’s no use in calling out to him, but the sight of the brown duffel the magician left behind assures her that he’s not going anywhere far. Shortly, he returns with two bottles of water. He hands one to Avery.
She’s about to fish out some cash but he stops her. Instead, he draws a worn-out moleskin from his bag. Avery expects flowers and bunnies to emerge from within its pages (as a magician’s book would), but the pages are empty. He draws a pen out and begins to write.
Twenty more dimes for water
Avery chuckles. One communication problem is solved, and it comes with a sense of humor as a bonus. She takes the pen.
Magic secrets in book?
The magician takes the book from her hands and raises a finger. Wait. He withdraws a deck of playing cards from his bag and divides it in two. The cards glide in a flash, leaving a faint trail of shapes and numbers lingering in the air. He stops and pulls a card out of the deck. Queen of Diamonds stares back at Avery. He shuffles another round and comes to a stop, tapping at the top card. Avery picks it up. The Queen of Diamonds.
Her eyes widen. It’s a simple trick but somehow, seeing it up close, is still surreal. She is transported in memory back to the first grade, witnessing a similar trick at a friend’s birthday party. Clapping her hands, she finds a delight in this trivial thing that makes her smile. She picks up the abandoned pen and writes on the moleskin pages.
Any rabbits inside?
She points to his duffel bag.
Five dollars. He scribbles.
“Are you ripping me off? Sir, I bet you are,” she blurts out, forgetting the barrier that gets in the way, but the conversation has made that invisible now.
The magician watches her and shakes his head, letting out a throaty laughter. He reaches inside his bags and produces more magic paraphernalia. Still no bunnies, but the flowers that emerge out of a handkerchief makes up for it.
* * *
The sun is inching into the horizon, casting blinding, stark rays towards the beach. The warm air hangs low. Everything around Avery turns gold-yellow. A couple of surfers embrace the tall waves in the distance.
The magician gestures her to come closer to the water. She draws back, fearing the water will soak her linen pants. His hands wave at her as he exposes his feet to the crashing waves. Avery has no choice. She folds the pants up to her knees and follows. The incoming little waves crumble between her toes and they go still for a split second before the current pulls them back to the ocean.
An odd feeling sweeps Avery when the water retreats into the sea, as if it’s lifting things away and out of her — the traffic, the heat, Tina Sanchez. Her heart, once heavy, gains the lightness it longs for, and her worries are put to rest for now.
Avery walks further until the water reaches her knee. A slight rough wave crashes beneath her, soaking the pants she’d properly laundered and sprayed with a lavender scent for today’s interview. She squeals. The magician lets out a laugh and she is surprised by the laughter in her joining his.
The colors around Avery soften and the sky has lost its brightness — displaying gradients of pink and gold. She glances at the row of low buildings, housing the tattoo parlor and souvenir shops, where the last traces of sun creep away from the walls, darkness looming. Beyond those buildings, Santa Clarita is calling. She throws another look at the magician.
When she’s getting out of the water, he says nothing back, not orally, but rather facially. His jaw tightens. The very first smile that welcomes her to Venice, to LA, earlier in the afternoon. Halfway up the beach, she turns back. She’s heard of those stories about people, those trying to get something back by returning to it, only to find it with them, all the time.
His tall figure disappears. She can barely make out his tall frame take off with his duffel bag through the dusky colors as she walks away.
When Avery finds a piece of ticket slipped in her wiper, she doesn’t even complain. She’s only ready to face the traffic again now her lost pieces are found and mended — not as whole as before, but still, functional. The pink sky is visible through her rearview mirror as she steals another glance before her gaze is fixated forward. She presses her soles gently on the pedal and drives on…
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