Ingenuous. And Dis-
This morning I was thankful that I had parked on the street instead of across the driveway. The driveway, you see, is only the sidewalk, and the grade of the hill has created a short stretch of retaining wall, about a foot and a half tall, resulting in a completely uncrossable sidewalk if my car is there. So why would I ever park there? San Francisco Parking is not much more than a Good Idea, and my garage, well, it's more of a carbox, able to fit my Vespa, but not much more. Certainly not a car, unless I'm willing to climb into the back seat and go out the trunk to get out of it once garaged.
There is a woman who walks her dog every morning. She is ancient; she is lovely. Her hair is raven black, and on a good day she might hit the 5-foot mark. She carries one of those ultra-light folding stools (which she uses as a walking stick) in her left hand, and the dog's leash in her right. The dog is about the size and principle of a whippet, though she's a bit sturdier of build. She carries herself, bounding, on only three legs: one of its hind legs, the right, was lost at some point. Or simply never was. She doesn't give the appearance of noticing, is not slowed down by it.
I say 'good morning' to the woman, this time I get to be first. She's always ready with a smile, a gracious hello and a lovely radiated warmth and I am usually pre-caffeinatedly groggy. This morning we spoke of the cold weather, complaints issued from me about it being too cold and offerings from her that at least it's in the 50s today instead of the 40s, 'so things are looking up!' I smiled, felt warmer.
The last morning that I saw her, my car was across the driveway/sidewalk, and she was navigating herself, her chair and her dog around the retaining wall and around the nose of the car, the narrow space between it and the garage door. She was first to speak, first to say good morning, first to smile.
I bled apologies for obstructing her path, not even attempting to explain away why it was there. Quickly she sought to soothe, explaining that she understood how difficult it was to find parking, and not to worry.
Isn't this how the world should work?
So this morning, I get in my car, as usual, and drive down to Cafe Commons, as usual. The Poisonous-Odious eX-boyfriend (heretofore known as the 'POX') is already at the cafe, and I stood in line behind him.
Now, keep in mind that he doesn't speak to me. I mean I don't exist for him, or, as it turns out, for any of the litany of others who came after me. And after a few attempts back in the day at being at least pleasant, exchanging pleasantries, even I—stubborn old me—was forced to give it up, knowing that all energies expending would be consumed and none returned in any significant good-will parry.
So, standing in line, not existing, I could listen to him speaking to another in line, and to Soonae and Jong, the cafe's proprietors and my good friends. Part of me was awed, admittedly, at the artfulness to his artifice, and the abject totality of contrivance in each word, utterance and chuckle. It is a demeanor and carriage entirely specious.
Sometimes I think the rarefied air in San Francisco is wasted in the lungs of such, but then I remember my neighbor, she of the travel-chair and the three-legged dog, and remind myself that I'd rather be like her in her 70+ years than like the POX in his barely-40.
I am home in San Francisco, and always will be. And though She traffics in good will, people like the POX will never do anything but siphon it off for themselves.
Still, what can you do but continue the good will?