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All Over Coffee By Paul Madonna

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The Eviction Series
Chapter 12

 

It was my birthday and I went to North Beach. I just wanted to forget that that the city was changing faster than I could keep up. To draw something nice and take myself out to a dinner of spaghetti and wine.

I wandered until I found a spot just off the beaten path where the light and composition grabbed me. I set my bag between my legs, took out my pad, and breathed in deep. For a few minutes I just stood there, calming myself in the angles of the buildings, the reflections in the windows, the drapes of shadow spilling over the scene like a darkening film. Then I began to draw.

The street was mostly empty, and as my lines took shape on the page a few people occasionally walked by. Then a person came straight toward me. I thought it might be a fan or a curious local, but then I recognized him, and the moment turned very strange. The man was me. I was looking at myself.

I rubbed my eyes. Earlier Iโ€™d had dizzy spells and peoplesโ€™ faces were disappearing, but no, there I was, standing right in front of me.

โ€œI remember that one,โ€ this other me said. And when I didnโ€™t respond he arched his brows and pointed to the pad in my hand. โ€œIt turns out to be a pretty good drawing.โ€

He was undoubtedly me. It was like looking in a mirror, except the reflection had a better haircut and was trimmer, which made me hope he really was from the futureโ€”I mean, if I had just those changes to look forward to then Iโ€™d be happy. Still, I didnโ€™t understand howโ€”

โ€œYouโ€™re not crazy,โ€ he said, clearly reading my thoughts.

โ€œOkay.โ€

โ€œBut you do need to stop this sniveling.โ€

I squinted at him.

โ€œFor all that you observe,โ€ he said, โ€œyou donโ€™t see whatโ€™s right in front of you.โ€ Then he pointed into the distance and I followed his finger to see a strange cloud hovering in the sky. It looked like a burn mark. โ€œThatโ€™s been following you for months,โ€ he said. โ€œAnd itโ€™s going to consume you.โ€

I opened my mouth but he cut me off. โ€œListen,โ€ he said. โ€œItโ€™s all going to happen really fast now.โ€

โ€œThe eviction?โ€ I said.

โ€œTheโ€”? Oh right. Noโ€”well, yes. Youโ€™re going to lose your place. But in the end, that wonโ€™t matter.โ€

โ€œThe end?โ€

He smiled tight and I recognized the heavy look in his eyes. It was real compassion. Not the distorted mix of sympathy, pity and unease that I often feel in the face of hardship, but genuine empathy. Which I supposed made senseโ€”I mean, if we canโ€™t muster feeling for ourselves, who can we come alive for?

โ€œForget about the move,โ€ he said. โ€œYouโ€™ll get a new place. Yes, it will be hard. Your landlord will be ridiculous. She will literally put her fingers in her ears and shout, โ€˜La la la I canโ€™t hear you.โ€™ A sixty year old woman who intentionally abused the law to screw you will act like a child. It will be infuriating. But you will remain in the city and in some ways, life will be better. Your neighborhood wonโ€™t be great, but it will be good enough. Youโ€™ll have a big work space, good amenities, even a garage. Youโ€™ll sort through all your things and it will suck. Youโ€™ll throw out truck loads, some of which youโ€™ll later wish you had, but justify by saying, โ€˜At least I know I didnโ€™t throw out too little.โ€™ Youโ€™ll pay twice the rent but find you can afford it. Your work will change, but youโ€™ll know it was coming anyway. You wonโ€™t be happy for the experience, but because you wonโ€™t want to be a person who wallows in victimhood, you will turn the adversity into triumph. You will realize that life is short and tell yourself, โ€˜Iโ€™m a better person for it.โ€™ That, โ€˜The city changes, and either I change with it, or I get left behind.โ€™ And thatโ€™s fine. Good for youโ€”for us. But in the end, it wonโ€™t matter. So let it go. Take yourself to your birthday dinner and enjoy your spaghetti and let all of this go. Because thereโ€™s something else coming. Something big. And thatโ€™s what Iโ€™m here to tell you.โ€

But before he could say what, a screech of tires spun both our heads. I saw an orange VW van speeding our way and before I could react it was right there, the door sliding open, two figures jumping out. Everything went black as a hood was thrown over my head. Up was down as I slammed onto a hard surface. I heard a voice yell, โ€œGo! Go! Go!โ€ And felt the van rocket off.


 

Paul Madonna writes and draws All Over Coffee, the weekly series published in the San Francisco Chronicle and on the Rumpus.net.  His stories and drawings have been published internationally and exhibited in galleries and museums. He is the author of two books, All Over Coffee (City Lights 2007), and Everything is its own reward (City Lights 2011), which won the 2011 NCBR Recognition Award for Best Book. Find more of his work at paulmadonna.com.  We are stoked to have his work on our site as well.

 

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