Twitter would be so much quicker, but this has to stay private. I’m neurotic. Nate found me, and I think everything’s going to be ok. I need to find Eve. She’s here.
There she was. Right in front of me, like a blooming flower in midday, it was so impossible, yet here the contradictory laid. I couldn’t imagine something so real and so fictional all at the same time. It almost made my heart break. I held back the tears, the memories, the “what if’s” crawling around my mind these past few days. I felt sick… And of all places Miss 626 had to be lying in the bed of my only communication line between my film and our first encouter: Nate. Why did it have to be like this…
After days of writing in this journal, I’ve finally learned the craft behind writing a good story. It’s been good practice for my grammar and format, by pen I’m almost a master in my own eyes, but by speech I am still, well, speechless. As much of it I have been taking care of, it didn’t help me prepare for the real thing. Not like this.
Early this morning, I came to pick up my phone from Nate’s apartment. I didn’t want to be disturbed while I was finishing my submission for the Grant, so I made sure he kept it away from me, in case I had another temptation to call Miss 626 in the middle of the night. Now that I know she’s more abused than loose, a tragedy like that would go unsaid until someone else can do something about it. A car door was too much for me. I imagined myself as her hero at that particular moment, when her date made her cry at that stop, but I suppose I needed to be faster, stronger, more of a man. I considered myself a coward for not acting so quickly. Damn my nerves, I swear…
But of all times, right when I completed my project and submitted the final cut to the upcoming film festival, I return to my phone, to Nate’s alcohol, to her…lying unconscious on his bed…his bed. I swore I woke to a nightmare when I found Eve. The walls came crashing down, and my lungs suffocated under a thick mist of jealousy. Was he to become her hero? What was there left for me? I signed the form for the Grant, confessing my ardent piece, revealing my soul through her face, Shakespeare, and stupid rap music! It was suppose to be art, it was suppose to be a masterpiece, but right then, just as I saw her snoring in between his sheets and my cell phone, I affirmed the pervert Nate had to be. The Bartender and my bane. GOD, WHY!!!
Why did she sit there with her dry lips and dampened face, sounding like a trumpet — young strumpet, are you real at all? What was all this for, if it were to just to end in humiliation? I think, I do think too much, and much too much am I finding myself more and more hysterical, lyrical, but hysterical. God, why-God-why???
I left my car, and walked home. I have my phone, but I don’t think I’ll be able to pick it up for another year. I wish I were quicker, stronger, more of a man. Maybe none of this would have happened. Eve can stay as Miss 626, for all I care. I’ll stay in hellish Northridge forever, and forget that day of paradise between her smile and voice and shoulder and phone number. My fingers can be wiped clean now, her number’s no consolation anymore. I hate the world, I hate being me — twenty-something and a stupid artist, as if I didn’t feel isolated enough for being only half Asian, my friends have to rub it in my face how slow and weak I really really am! I hate you Nate, I hate you. And Eve, how could you?
I’m in the bus and I I didn’t take a shower, and I’m here at Ho
I’m about to flush the toilet, my film’s about to show. At least if I get this Grant, I’ll be rich enough to move out of this city. I hate Hollywood, but the festival is here, maybe if I make it in the Indie scene, I can go to the festivals in Texas instead. But for now, the Egytian Theater is all I got left. If I lose, at least I can end my career in Art today, and get a job at some Insurance company in the Midwest, where dreams are just another TV episode on Lifetime.
Yesterday, I spent the whole day at Glendale. I needed the change of pace, going to Pasadena made me rethink about the meeting at Huntington Library. It’s not that I want to forget about her, but it was getting creepy that I was becoming such a stalker. I mean, Facebook was created just for that, right? What am I doing calling Huntington Library for her name anyways? This isn’t 1985. So, I tried to gloss over the memory for a day and roam on foot for a change.
It’s interesting how the years have changed. Being a man is way off of what I remember it to be. Now, you can’t even talk to a guy without hearing any videogame references. As visually stunning some of these games have become – looking like movies half the time – I’m still not into the deal of punching buttons all day to kill an entire RPG or MMO within a month or so. It just doesn’t jive with my java, you know what I mean?
I passed by the Mac store in the Mall, looking for new equipment for my next video shoot. Everything’s so bright now, I feel like wearing sun glasses when I want to buy a USB plug. The Lego store was pretty bad before. They’re walls were painted in highlighter yellow, and the pieces that I would have even considered buying was at the end of the store. Mon Deiu…
After a few hours in the mall, I headed out towards Broadway Blvd., hoping to find something Armenian to eat. I thought of walking far, towards LA, you know where the Hipsters chill with the Theatres and brights shops. It kinda looked like NoHo, but clean and a little gay. A perfect place to voyeur my hours away, inspecting people’s delusions, and awkward hype over nothing; like National Geographic, but with…well, Hipsters.
I had the whole activity planned, but once I stepped out in the open from Nordstrom, I realized that it was too hot for comfort…at five fifteen in the afternoon! Instead I walked across the block for Borders. Half the store is made of glass, so it’s “outdoors” enough. I like their tea service, and if you’re lucky, you’d get a good seat in their cafe. Seattle’s Best is what they called it. Anyways, I didn’t find a seat, and my tea was hot, so sweating made it feel like I was with the pedestrians, feeling the heat, and enduring the sun. Call me stupid, but imagining the experience through voyeurism is my kind of entertainment.
I went to the second floor and found some of my favorites: Akira Kurosawa, Guy Richie, and Jon Woo – you know, the greats! On the nonfiction aisle. I had the idea of just taking snap shots with my phone of the movies I found, and thought I’d just watch them online tonight. Ironically, I they were all chick flicks. The idea of books made me think about her, and had me thinking what it was like to date a girl at my age. It can’t be the same as high school, I’m sure. I mean, people aren’t as boring as to hype up sex, like they used to, right? It might be a little more sophisticated, like a discussion about culture, or wine tasting, or some kind of holiday to the museum with all the mature smart people, with their suits and cravats.
I’m sure we’d enjoy the Egyptian Theater sometime, and go watch some Indies on the weekend. I’d try to get free tickets in, I’m bound to know someone in the Staff every now and then. That is, if I could get past saving up for a Gallery. I’m almost there, and I’m sure after enough footage, I can get that Grant to showcase my installation work at a real venue, instead of my little studio apartment…
I returned downstairs for a refill, and lo and behold, I found something better than the next visual experience for my next hour of fun: her. The girl whose name I can’t remember was there, right in front of me. Well, almost in front of me. More like across the room with a guy…an old guy. An old guy that looked good, and smart, and funny, and…he was talking to her. Bridget Jones fell first from my hand, then Emma, followed by Cinderella and Tootsie. I swear, I didn’t know what I was thinking when I picked those up, but I soon forgot about them, when I saw Miss 626.
My body froze at the sight of her, leaving with another guy. I thought, damn, he’s old. But soon felt worse when I couldn’t brush off the fact that she was on a date with another guy…at a book store??? I didn’t think that was possible! But it did – they did – and just like that, she was gone. I stepped over the DVDs and attempted to follow her out. But just when I was about to open the glass door, I stepped on a piece of paper.
It was hers. It had her name, and something else…