And the door shuts. We're all outside with heavy lips and thick knots in our throats. It's a funeral procession. Sayonara Monsieur Omelet Parlor. It's a Wednesday. The whole thing feels surreal. I can count the number of times I've been there for brunch on two hands, maybe one even, but I guess that just goes to show how strange and mystical and subtexted a thing can be and still be important. It's the feeling of someone erasing my childhood. Sacha had taken me there the very first time, in high school. Breakfast before surfing. And the last time had been with Heidi. Maybe a year ago. She was a rowdy dove between the sheets, peppered white skin, warm to the touch and her wrists gripped well, and she liked to fight back. She sounded soft when she took it, and I used to ride my bicycle pass the Omelet Parlor on my way to work and think of them, the both of them, as I did.
Afraid and somber, I am at the thought of what comes next. In a month, I'll be riding to work and come to the spot on Main Street between Ashland and Hill, and that familiar warmth, passing thought though it is, will not be there anymore. Some New York Burger chain is moving in.
Across the street, Wildflower Pizza is being erased as well. I used to get lunch, at least every week, with Gabriela there.
There's less feeling here already, than there had been.
So this is growth.
*****
And I said to her, "Now this is just my opinion, but I think you've got it all wrong, ladies."
She said, "Is that so."
"I think so."
"Why? Just because I refuse to fuck someone on the first date? I'm entitled to that, I believe."
"You certainly are. I only think you're going about the wrong way to get to know a guy."
"How's that?"
"You wanna see a man's true worth, you fuck him for it. That's how you see who he really is. Whatever he does after. Everything before that's just a dog begging for a treat. I've seen a dog walk on two legs for that shit. I've seen a total asshole turn Prince Charming to get it. It's Pavlovian, and you're trying to rewrite a man. That most likely won't happen. Then you're left in the lurch, picking up the pieces, wondering what the hell went wrong, and telling yourself you should've held out a little longer when in reality you should've just fucked him and cut to his core. But what do I know. I don't feel the way you females do."
"You certainly don't," she said. "I can't just fuck a guy. There's too much emotion attached to it."
"There's the difference right there."
"Where? There's no feeling in it when you fuck me?"
"...of course there is."
"You're a monster. With no soul, you are." She's laughing.
"I had to think about it is all! There is feeling in it sure. There's feeling in everything I do, I'm very emotional. But when it comes to sex - to love - there's a lot of things to take into account. Like the everything else, everything besides the sex. But that doesn't come 'til after."
"So you're saying there's a change."
"Yes."
"How come you didn't change."
"Huh?"
"You were the same. After all the sexing, that is. You didn't change."
"Hmm. Well, I wasn't trying to have sex with you."
"What? You wanted to have sex with me. I know you did."
"I know. I know I did too. What I'm saying is I wasn't trying to have sex with you. I was just hoping to."
"Uh-huh. God, shut up. You're too charming."
"Blessing and a curse, love."
