For now, an open window

My 5th year in Los Angeles.

Today marks my 5th year in Los Angeles. At the airport, someone in a hazmat suit. When I boarded the plane from Boston, I wiped the seatbelt buckle, the window shade, the TV screen, and the armrest clean with Clorox wipes.

I remember arriving at dusk. Around this time, actually, and driving up Fairfax from the airport. My most recent purchase, an Emily Dawn Long hat. I arrived at my apartment on 6th Street to Devon, my new roommate who I’d never met before. She left sunflowers in a jar in my room with a set of keys. I meticulously hung up all my t-shirts that I had collected from working for Kathleen in my closet.

When the moving truck arrived with my belongings everything had broken in transit.

At Whole Foods I bought kombucha (guava), yogurt, laundry detergent, toothpaste, butter, Annie’s bunnies cocoa cereal, and soap.

The next day, a pregnancy test. If I had been impregnated by my boyfriend of a few weeks in New York, I’d have his child and be cool forever. I ordered Thai food and the delivery driver texted me “You r a vision” with hearts.

Later I wept in fear of missing everything in New York.

Until I walked in a canyon at 6:49 pm in August and saw Devon's golden hair glow as a halo protecting her. Katy had taken me here earlier that spring before I moved. The next morning, grapefruit juice and butter pads on pancakes.

My acclimation to Los Angeles was sprinkled with the most beautiful things. I wasn’t able to see most of them consciously, at least barely. I was still living the life I had known in New York, just on a separate coast.

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I am writing spread like a starfish in my unmade bed wearing only a blue pair of underwear. It is 5:38pm. I can hear a neighbor shuffling around in their home and wind chimes somewhere down our alleyway street. There is a faint breeze on my face from the ceiling fan which is huffing and puffing above me. This is what it’s like to live in Hollywood in August. Next weekend, a heatwave. For now, an open window. 

All the plants and herbs we bought giddy in the spring have withered away in the heat of the summer. Last week, our gardeners took the dead jasmine off its trellis and threw our mint and lemon balm into the green bins. Now only terracotta pots of dirt remain on our sun bleached deck. Soon, we will leave Hollywood, and with it the helicopters, sirens, and cranky neighbors. 

I switch positions and am laying now with my feet up against my wall and my arms splayed out like a child looking at a mobile, but above me is Chet Baker's massive head. A Christmas present I got for Carter. I think about how much I hate afternoon and hear another helicopter heading north to the valley.

I punch 2 Pepto chewables out of their plastic sleeve and bite down which is similar to what I’d imagine biting down on soap is like. Another helicopter. This one so close overhead it shakes my office. It’s getting dark which I hate. I also hate that I’ve told you so much. 

For now, I can’t imagine ever leaving.