He’s digging into his food, not even paying attention. “Okay.”
Oh, honestly, can’t a gal do something for the hell of it? I’ve gained some weight in the past few months, and the curves are new to me. So I thought, You know, what better time to dye my hair platinum blond and cut it to a length between my earlobes and shoulder tops? I spun big sections of blond into foam curlers and drenched the whole mess in home-perm chemicals. I don’t even really know anything about Marilyn Monroe. But girlfriend was on to something with her short, curly hair. Bouncing on top of my head, it feels fun and light and like I’d be ready to roll if the forest pixies ever ask me to go dancing with them. And as long as my hair is going to be all Marilyn-y, I figured I’d try out some red lips and nails.
I’ve read that animal coloration can be for mimicry or protection or for signaling to a predator or a potential sexual mate. Ha! Perhaps my platinum dye and red lips and pink cheeks are all of the above. Or perhaps I just like plumage.
When the waffles arrive, I push my sketchbook aside to make room, and I dig in and oomph! Carb heaven, golden and buttery and dusted with powdered sugar.
Officer Hayashi is staring down at my sketchbook page. He uses a chunk of biscuit to mop up the last of his runny egg yolk. “Wabi-sabi. You know what that is?”
“As I understand it,” I say, trying to sound academic, “it’s an untranslatable word. Wabi can mean rustic or stark or transient. Sabi is like . . . faded. Or fading. Old. Together, I guess it’s like seeing beauty in simplicity and nature. In fleeting moments and even in decay.”
He tips his coffee back, emptying it. “Where’d you learn about that?”
“From my friend.” Can I still call Ruby my friend? Her image invades my brain, her hot-pink lipstick and fringed black hair, and I’m sickened with missing her, with missing her whole family. “Last spring, her mom did this huge mixed-media show juxtaposing the Japanese aesthetics she grew up with and the Western aesthetics she studied in college.”
Before he can add anything, I sigh, gesturing to the sweeping cherry-branch dress. “I’m trying to translate some of the concepts into couture, but I’m not sure I can mesh them with my personal aesthetics. I like inventive, bold fashion, so I have a feeling that once I finally get to Japan, I’ll be more about the street style. Have you been?”
“I haven’t, no. But I . . .” He hesitates, pulling cash out of his wallet. “I have always wanted to see Kinkaku-ji.”
“The Golden Pavilion?”
He nods. “My mother spoke of it with awe.”
“Why haven’t you ever gone, if you want to?”
“Oh, you know. Life.” With this, he tugs a worn baseball cap onto his head. He leaves our booth without another word.
I’m not far behind him, because my morning routine has one more stop before work.
Verona Cove sits above sea level, so if you walk westward on any street in town, you’ll eventually hit the bluffs. Some of them drop off right above the ocean, and others taper downhill toward the shore. I think I imagined the California coast with surfers running headlong into the waves and with pops of colorful umbrellas. But it’s quieter, just the whoosh of water and call of birds. I stand on the cliff with mist rising from the ocean almost straight below me, and, even after a week of this, it stuns me. The natural world makes the finest architects and designers and artists look like silly amateurs. I’m so lucky to stand witness to panoramic blue skies and white-tipped waves and the craggy earth beneath my feet.
I anticipated the few birds that scamper near me, which is why I pocketed some crumbs of waffle from my breakfast. They peck at the torn pieces on the ground while I dig into my purse for the thing I came here to discard. I have two neon-orange bottles in my purse, so I’ve got to make sure I find the right one.
The pills are smooth to the touch. I push my finger against one pill to slide it out. Once it’s in my hand, I wind up because I’ve learned that you’ve really got to put some force behind the meager weight of a tiny pill. I fling my arm forward, hand opening for the release.
The pill soars over the cliff, and I imagine the tiniest plink as it hits the ocean’s surface. Maybe a fish will spot it, and his round mouth will break above water to ingest it, and if he’s been having some rough emotional ups and downs, he’ll feel better! You’re welcome, little guy.