Thursday, February 9, 2012
I've been taking a class in the Writer's Program at UCLA Extension. Tonight I gave my driving jitters a break and came out early before the traffic got jammed and agressive. On campus for the first time while there was still some daylight, I noticed that the building where my class is held is very near the Law School. I went in and had a look around, used the restroom, and tried to figure out why it all looked so familiar. It was The Someone who went to law school there--not me. But I guess there were presentations or award ceremonies or something. Or maybe I gave him a ride a couple of times when his car was in the shop. And I think there was a cocktail party or two.
I'm always amazed how a place can roil the waters of memory and before I know it there are bodies floating on the surface. Last week after class, I decided to take city streets home instead of braving Freeway detours, Cal Trans' late night habit of road work, and the outtage of dozens of lights. Dark strange roads plummet me into a panicked despair. Driving through streets and neighborhoods that I haven't travelled since the 70s took me on a different sort of detour. I had conversations with The Someone. Sometimes these talks are replays of real conversations that we had in the past--or at least the gist of them. Sometimes I'm talking to him in the here and now. Inventing conversations that will never happen. But really, if I saw him in person, I wouldn't rush over and get chatty. So why do I talk to him in my head? And how do I stop?