text: The metal grid of a spring frame is the first thing I see when I wake up; it rests along the wall that my mattress is laid on the floor in front of. My new mattress is a dream but it’s too big for my trundle -I don’t have a storage unit and so that’s just what my room has become. Funny, I’ve been here before; I actually have taken naps in a storage unit I rented when I didn’t yet have a place to room in. By the grace of some God, I had a friend that loaned his van to me while he was out of town. I would drive around aimlessly, piecing together remnants of a past social life to live in just to have a way to kill time before my next life move presented itself. I wish I could say I was seeking career opportunities or creative ventures to determine the stepping stones for my new move. Unfortunately I had tunnel vision on finding a lover, my ideal life move at the time was to move in with somebody and make a plan about what life we would create together. Sometimes I would get sleepy in the hot day. My storage unit was air conditioned and a lot quieter than parking lots. Unfortunately I learned that it wasn’t a perfect solution- my naps were timed since I would wake up struggling for air as the unit was pretty full and small to begin with. I positioned myself as close to the crack under the door as possible. I had a cell, a literal cell in a metaphorical prison. So you see the grid is like a jail cell, like a repetitive cosmic joke so thick it presents itself almost literally right before me as an incessant reminder that perhaps there’s no escape; because in both cases I created it and how do you escape yourself? I could decide to put it out on the street but I’m holding on to the idea that this far into my life I wouldn’t have to throw something I want away just because I live in a shoe box. I have fantasies of having a house and having my fancy brass scroll trundle as a guest bed. It’s a small dream but if I get rid of every little dream like swimming in an ocean storm and removing heavy jewelry off of me to be lighter, then I’d have to admit I’m desperately staying afloat and that’s unacceptable at this age. I rolled over on my twin mattress to meet another unpleasant haunting-time, 10:53am. I have nowhere to be and nothing to do but I am jobless and I can’t live in assisted living forever so I muster the strength to get out of bed. Something about starting from the floor seems dolefully appropriate. I don’t bother brushing my teeth because I know how fleeting low ambition can be so I got dressed promptly and headed to the coffee shop where I can "people watch" as I apply for jobs. If you haven’t already figured, I’m in the thick of doom and gloom, the kind of depressed where you want to grab someone’s arm and tug for mercy to help you by sharing some of their happiness but thankfully my scruples are still in tack so I quietly observe like a student. My walk to Cheer Ups is already medicinal. The name gives shape and location to an emotion I’m trying to find, plus, I hadn’t realized how stale my apartment is until the outside air hit me and produced an involuntary deep breath -as though my body was waiting to detect a more suitable supply to breath. I took out my notebook and jotted down “breathing”. There’s often a sweet little white squirrel I call “Loops”, that lives in one of the trees lining the sidewalk, it’s always a treat to witness him circling the tree elated and fluffing his tail about but he’s not there; Instead, a lady tends a wheeled rack that she’s selling simple cloth bags off of. She’s sitting on a blanket sewing them in real time. That, was more impressive than the finished product. I viewed the whole scene more as performance art of her story but I do hope someone buys some. I suddenly realize that I’m having a positive thought for someone else. Perhaps I relate to her, I sense desperation in that act but she’s doing something about it and that’s admirable. I jotted down “well wishes for others”. The smell of warm roasted coffee seductively swirls the building, so intoxicating it pulls me at the waist to come inside. I jot down “sex”, immediately scratching it out to write “coffee scented candle”. I’m met with an attractive couple wearing glasses that matches in cuteness and style, I slip out of their way as he holds the door open for her and their precious bouncing baby. That stung a bit, I do some heavy math on the way to the couch, while unpacking my things I ask why did I feel a sharp visceral sadness creeping up to my eyes and how can I prevent that? I make up a mantra and jot down “let others be, what they have is not for me-Acceptance”. I recalibrate my focus to inhaling the smell of coffee and releasing that pain. To my delight I look up and Javier is smiling at his computer, he’s not even on a call, he’s genuinely smiling at spread sheets. This man is always smiling with the consistency and conviction I’ve only seen in hula dancing. Though he’s got an eye catching set of teeth and a sweet boys face, his black hair with a modest sprinkling of salt is telling that he’s probably in his early 40s. I don’t know him, we have not met but I’ve heard him introduce himself to others, that’s how I know his name and that he has a thick South American accent. I assume he moved away from his roots. I’ve never see him in here with anyone. I wonder if he’s lonely too and if so, how does he produce such a sincere smile that radiates a chain reaction in me to smile. He is a valuable stranger to me, a happiness booster like my charming albino squirrel neighbor. He re-ups me by just being. You sir, make me forget I was sad. Before I go up to order I make sure how much money I have in my cloth coin purse. Rummaging around I feel a balled up piece of masking tape that became loose, it has “Carmen” written on it in pen. I recall when I got the purse at a natural foods store, they had a section of coin bags made with a variety of patterns. The tag said Liberty and Luz and describes the makers to be a group of women from El Salvador. The shopkeeper noticed me browsing and told me a man drops them off every so often. I wondered about the fairness of the profiting hierarchy and hoped they were making as much as he was if not more. In this collection an earthy brown with subtle blue inter-weaved, stood out to me, this had my name on it too. When I read her name off the tape, my first thought was that Carmen and I both understand the beauty of brown and blue as a unit. I walked into that store on an entirely different season when new bags were put up to choose from and just like the last I was drawn to a particular pattern out of all the rest. This time, a bright white one with neon pink and blue lines with an alternating band of navy diamond shapes, I opened it and saw that it was another one of Carmen’s, we have the same taste even in different moods. The combination of reading her hand written name on the tape in addition to noting our similar style choices was like meeting a friend, it was a clue that spoke something to me about them like putting your ear to a conch shell to hear a sound from somewhere else. The name tag in the lining made me feel connected to this person and curious to know their story and how important this job is for them, side cash or complete livelihood? I kept her name in there because the illusion of this special type of invisible friend helps me feel less alone. Unfortunately, the tape is becoming worn. Before I could get up, a bright movement of light swept by the window in my periphery, Maybel- no one’s hair makes a statement quite like Maybel’s. She’s a woman in her late 50s that is of Irish descent so her hair is naturally platinum blonde and wildy voluptuous and curly, it’s blinding under the sun. My instinct was correct as she just turned a few heads stepping in through the door in her red pumps, black panty hose with the line up the middle and a red polka dotted tight white dress with a slit in the back. She even had short lace gloves and a vintage pill cap pinned on her head. She’s often an eccentric dresser but never this “to the 9’s” for a casual coffee. She seemed to be ordering something other than a drink. I went over to say hi then noticed she was more sullen than usual. She turns to me “Dotty died, I’m just getting a mincemeat pie. She would always beg me for mine. I had her turned to ash so I could bury her quickly at a spot in her favorite park.” Dotty was Maybel’s beloved dog, they’ve lived down the street from me for three years now, we chat sporadically when we see each other out. I’ve been over to her single roomed shack; it was a bit of an Alice in Wonderland trick the way she would fit into her own place, tall and thin but big hipped and with a large pit pull. She had a mini old diner style napkin dispenser in 70’s ochre. Her kitchen had an island the size of a trapper keeper, we’d drink out of thimbles and she used upright tree trunks as side tables. I can tell she was a cooley in the 90’s by the relics surrounding the place and how she’s regaled me in her personal relationships with rock musicians I’ve heard on the radio. She shared her rough beginnings about how her mother would threaten to pull and quarter her. I had my own grievances with parental abuse and it was interesting to compare cultural differences in it. As far as I know Maybel doesn’t have children or doesn’t date and is perfectly fine living alone, she makes it look cozy and safe. Of course she never felt alone with her pets, this isn’t the first dog that’s passed, it’s her life companion of choice and she’ll likely get another dog after some time and go through the motions all over again. Maybe she has the same fate as me where the right people never stuck around. Despite the tragedy in today she managing to celebrate Dotty’s life in style and not sink in a bed. She’s about 20 years older than me and I forget her age because she didn’t hang up her cutoff jeans, low snap button tanks, cowboy boots or red lipstick. Pondering the life and nature of Maybel just energized me, If I must continue down my lonely path just ask what would Maybel do to get through. I hold that thought to respond, “I’m so sorry Maybel, can I join you”? She nods yes with her periwinkle blues. “Ok, I’ll meet you at your place in an hour”. I quickly went back to the couch to pack up keeping my notebook and pencil in hand, taking one more dose of Javier’s smile with me before I head home. I pass Maybel again and give a sympathetic wave and jot down “WWMD”. Once I come to the tree where Loops is playing with another squirrel, I’m so happy to see him even for just small moments out of the day. I would have forgotten about the lady that was selling bags there earlier except a tag must have drifted off one of them and stayed behind. It says Liberty and Luz. I knew they sold in town but a man normally distributes and this time it was a lady, might it have been Carmen? As I walk home spinning inspiring possibilities about Carmen’s work ethic driven journey. It’s not lost on me that I only left my apartment a little over an hour ago with a full desire to not move from my bed until sun down but since I did I’m now wearing a smile with an excuse to get glitzed up and be of useful company to somebody. I don’t have to know what everyone is going through to know that they also experience sorrow of their own, whether crippling or light rain, hope can be produced from observing how others deal and cope and I am so grateful for that hope today. Seeing people carrying on and taking on life’s challenges with either a smile on their face or begrudged but still kicking, is impactful and motivating. There are endless components in our surroundings that we can have gratitude for. Collectively the characters in just an hour into my day demonstrated positivity, playfulness, ambition and strength that pulled me out of a funk. I now feel less alone and just as capable. As I get to the steps of my apartment I jot down “Get out, talk to other lonely people, relate”.