The G Hour

23 Mays ago, I was coming out of a bar in San Francisco that doesn't exist anymore. I think it had “Bigfoot” in the name?

I was only going to get like a 5 minute ride to BART so I could get back home but, as Love would have it, Fate had other plans

“Where are we headed, Young Lady?”

Okay that's unusual, I noted immediately

Not that it bothers me at all, but the reality is that I'm not particularly accustomed to hearing complete sentences in English, especially without an accent, from SF Cab Drivers

I politely requested the closest BART station and followed up with, “What's your deal? You don't exactly seem like the typical Cab Driver here”

He explained that he was from Detroit but came here to study film & sculpture at the Art Institute. He drove 4 nights a week so he could spend the rest of his time making art and also volunteered at a nonprofit in the City making art with the developmentally disabled on Thursdays

Because it was completely true, but moreso because something in me instinctively knew he really needed to hear it, I responded with “I respect that”

“Actually, can you please just take me all the way back home to Pacifica please?”

(Yes, I probably did double-please. It's not unusual for me to double-please. I was raised to be the Anti-Karen: You better be more polite to the people helping you than almost anyone else. Thanks, Dad)

And what the hell else is money for if not buying yourself a longer conversation with an interesting guy?

I don't totally remember the exact progression of the conversation from there. I probably told him about the 3 course series I’d taken in Film as Literature at Portland Community College taught by the inimitable Bryan Hull

He inquired as to my favorite film?

“Bleu. Because it taught me radical forgiveness”

(Silence)

“Is that a good answer?” my unquenchable thirst for approval asked

“That is an A+ answer”

I know we talked about my frustration with the relationship I'd been in for 7 years. Maybe I told him I worked at a Firewall company. I'd bet money that I told him how I was still going to school at night for my degree because that was pretty much my reason for living back then

He asked if I was a writer

“Yeah. Poetry. Just what everyone’s excited to read”

We stopped at an ATM. I tipped him $80, which was as much as the ride itself. But I was sending a message. And making a point

He asked if I would mind emailing him a poem?

(Fucking smooth considering he knew I was in a relationship

G had figured out forever ago that the way to get a girl is to show interest in her creativity)

Email addresses were exchanged and off I went, back to a life that would soon change forever, to a boyfriend who was not far from a rude awakening I'd been trying to bring about through more gentle means for ages

I already knew which poem to send, although Yahoo’s executive decision to delete it prevents me from sharing it now. But the title was Casualty of Spring

I already had a crush on him, although I still wasn't exactly sure what he looked like

But I'm blessed to be way more auditory than visual so I prioritize what people say and how they sound saying it over looks anyway. Which definitely makes life easier in many ways. G was definitely a cutie anyway. Totally my type ~ “straight Bear”

He had a deep whispery voice I wanted to hear for the rest of my life

(And at one point I thought I actually might)

Anyway, his cab was #255 and he was nocturnal as hell

Now whenever I catch 2:55am, I say Hi from across the Universe and try to summon the strength to keep inhaling amid so much grief, injustice, and chosen ignorance

The memories do make it somehat easier to do

So, for those years together ~ the golden hour of this pointless life ~ much thanks my Dear. Hope there's quiet and stunning views wherever you are