Spring song

Observations from mid-March in Los Angeles.

I felt the heat begin to rise as I made my way up the mountain. Up at the top in the beating sun, I noticed the tennis courts were full. Lizards walked next to me, nudging me to look over at The Greek, the red seats where we sat once and listened to Neil Young. It’s around now that the loquat trees are full of ripe fruit, ready to be picked by passerby. Arriving back to my car, I watched as fruit carts were loaded off of truck beds, their parachute rainbow umbrellas protecting them from the sun, another memory unfolding right in front of me. Back at home, I managed to finish a pot of tea. The drastic change in temperatures always leaves me feeling uneasy and homesick for the East where there are seasons.

Around 6:30, I walked around the neighborhood, taking in its perfumed air— a concoction of orange blossoms, jasmine, rose bushes, eucalyptus and pink peppercorn trees. On the stoop outside the front door, Capri cigarette butts and Belle’s hand-rolled cigarette filters from last weekend had fallen from the balcony above.

The navy that we had reupholstered the swivel chairs in in November had started to fade by mid-March, the arms now sun-bleached. I turned one of them to face South at dusk, watching the neighbors across the street walk from their car to the front door and into their home. I remembered marveling at it when we first saw the apartment. I said it looked like a castle, what with its coned roofs and all.

Last week, I told Anna about The Long Goodbye and about the High Tower Elevator. It had been around this time, what with her now living here for a year and a half, that I had discovered The Long Goodbye, too. I became familiar with Philip Marlowe in the throes of Covid in September 2022. It was then I started to search for a home that was ours, not just mine.

The heat had settled in for a while, making it hard to sleep at night despite being exhausted from the sun, from standing on the asphalt in Silverlake earlier today with Anna. I noticed how warm my flesh was as I crossed my legs over each other on the ottoman in front of me, nearly itching from discomfort.

I no longer felt a desire for everything to be so precious.

I walked to Larchmont for a pan au raisin, another reminder that I wanted to keep close. I stopped in Larchmont Beauty Supply for floss and Bioderma. I picked up an assortment of blue elastics to put my hair into a proper ponytail for the walk home, as my neck was starting to be slick with sweat, causing my hair to stick. I walked home, carrying the small plastic pink bag beside me, and decided to put my phone in which was connected to my wired headphones. One less thing to carry, thankfully, as overstimulated as I was with the sweat now making beads at my knees and shins.

As I turned onto my street, my neighbor Allie, an older woman from the UK, approached me carrying two purses, a coat, and some dry cleaning. We spoke for a while, standing there, the sun beating on the left side of my face, shins and feet moist from the heat rising off the black asphalt below us. I noticed a desire to go inside that faded quickly as Allie looked into my eyes and reminded me of someone else. There was a familiarity in her essence, the way she chose to embrace me without question as I started to cry in the sun. The way her eyes wrinkled as she looked at me with an earnestness. The presence of her calmed me instantly.

I stood on our stairs by the back door and noticed a long cloud in the sky to the West. It was a particular shade of deep purple, like a color you’d pick at a nail salon, but what I mean is I could sense exactly what it would feel like to be standing in Malibu looking up at the same cloud, my feet placed firmly in the sand. I knew after seeing that cloud that in Point Dume right now there’d be a sliver of light left, especially on the shoreline. The blue kind of light, the crystal kind that comes in spring and stays through October, at least here in California.

In the evening at home, I hear laughter all around me, conversations with friends, the hum of electric vehicles in reverse. A hose outside turned on, which to me has always sounded like someone vomiting suddenly. I kept getting dizzy, perhaps because of the long cloud, the longing to be further West. Perhaps because the light had gone and it was dark in the apartment except for the streetlights shining in from outside. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly, almost unconsciously, wishing the vertigo away, praying the feeling would fade with each day that passed.

I didn’t need as much coffee as I’d imagined I would on Sunday afternoon, after not sleeping much the night before. I drove to buy lilacs because it’s finally the season and talked to Ari on the phone for an hour. I have been doing that, talking to friends on the phone for hours, something I never did before.

This morning on my balcony, Katy turned to me and said I don’t know why anyone would want to live anywhere else.