Memory Blackout

It was actually quite a lovely afternoon the day after I had landed in California -- sunny and very warm -- and I had walked some blocks. I emerged from the DMV office in Oakland, having just collected all the forms I needed to get my driver's license.

It was a good hour and a half walk to get to the apartment from there, and a quick question for directions ended in a friendly offer for a ride. Lawrence was sporting a classic Saab convertible -- bare bones and simple interior, but you knew that this car had turned heads in its day.

We had a wonderful conversation as the sun shone down on us, wind sweeping through our hair, buildings flying from fore to aft. He told me about how he had always wanted a Saab, and for $1500, he was able to pick this baby up. He explained how cheaply such cars could be had, without suffering the depreciation that newer cars were subject to endure.

He dropped me off at the apartment, and I thanked him again for the ride, and watched him drive away before making my own way to the building. Only my second day in the state, and I had met someone nice. It really made my day.

I don't have his email address anymore, but wish I could contact him again. In fact, I had completely forgotten about that whole experience -- the conversation, the ride, that day -- until just recently. I guess it was because the rest of that month was clouded over and shadowed by what happened two minutes after I stepped into the elevator: the conclusion to the first big volume in my life.