14 April 2020. Kathryn (Car Window on Solano).
She was always beautiful--over the years--I remember, of course, from the pharmacy, when I'd see her at the counter, or in the aisle, coming out of the back as I waited in the line for a prescription. But preoccupied, or maybe a touch edgy--sometimes forthcoming, but then she'd pull back into the mask. I could imagine her from somewhere in Germany, a long century back--or some other place in Northern Europe. Slightly deepest eyes, a mouth on the edge of a long square, like her cheeks, dropping down to the jawline. I usually don't pay such close attention, but her youthful beauty (is there another word?) always seemed to have a source...
She once, out of the blue, warned me of a financial scheme--something about stocks and buying back credit in advance--I was surprised, it seemed extreme--unexpected--and then she never mentioned again.
Then, one late afternoon in February (before the current state of things) I was walking down Solano, after the bus--I got off at the top of the hill, taking in the magic of those early evenings--and there in the window of the new storefront spa (the name Sundhari, painted in elegant narrow letters) I saw her behind the counter--and wondered whether she was working here, too--or was it somehow her own?
She looked up, saw me at the glass, and smiling in recognition, invited me in. The new place was hers--Kathryn, of course--who proceeded to take me on a nicely elaborate tour, the Buddhist massage tables, ayurvedic river stones--to all of which I responded with a genuine enthusiasm. After all, small businesses are in the blood (my dear father) and concern for their ongoing welfare...
She sensed all this, no doubt--but primarily my goodwill--and when I left (it couldn't have been more than ten minutes) it was as if we'd become good friends. and who knows, perhaps we had--for the recognition--being near to someone as they tell their story--was something we now shared...
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How surprising again, then, yesterday evening, at the very top of the now empty street, to hear a knocking on a car window just behind me--the urgency of it--I turned, and there was Kathryn, leaning over on the seat, happy to see me, wanting to know how I was doing. (I seem to be a vehicle for such questions these days--but they're well meant.) I've probably got the car model wrong--I made it an older model, one that felt familiar. So forgive me, Kathryn--but this too makes our friendship feel at home...
Just like your smiling face, seen through the glass...
