Sun Enough to Get Home By (1/04/09 Sunday)

Book People only had Songs of Angus for me, so though that edition included More Songs of Angus, that's still precious little more for me to read. I was disappointed Flemington hadn't come in. I tried Chop Suey Books, but nothing there appealed to me. The space left behind the Morvern Callar I'd bought two weeks ago was still there. My legs were hurting. I didn't want to go home, didn't want to walk anymore, either. I wanted to be among people. Plan 9 had restocked the Eno and Nilsson, so I picked up Before and After Science and Nilsson Schmilsson. The Eno I'd intended to get was Taking Tiger Mountain, but Before and After Science had a song called "Julie With..."--stupid reason, but so what. I added Franz Ferdinand, Imagine, and a compilation of vintage ska. There was little sun left even on the sunny side of Cary Street, and my exposed knees were feeling a chill. Though having gotten what I'd come to Carytown for, I thought of the barren stretch home, the thinning density of population and the decreasing likelihood of contact, and I just couldn't get back on the bike. Cold knees, aching hip, I kept walking. The sun still stretched across the Cary Court parking lot. I headed for it. I could think of no other stores along there that held even a browsing interest for me, but I was a bit hungry for some cycling fuel. For the Love of Chocolate would have nothing substantial. I paused in front of Jean-Jacques for a moment then went in. If there was nothing much to eat, at least I'd be warm. The turkey-and-cheese croissant might as well have been just the pastry for all my $2.05 bought me, but I ate it inside at a sunny table. The water was satisfying, anyway, and free. I filled my styrofoam cup one more time from the cooler.

"Is it getting cooler out there?"

I turned. "A little bit," I said. She was all shades of blue and gray--long-sleeved t-shirt, fleece vest, knit slacks with a mild flair--except for the black sweatshirt tied around her waist and the red bandanna fastened round her forehead. "You should be fine," I told her.

"Oh, I'm not worried about getting cold. I just don't want to sweat." I was out of small talk and expected her to be, as well, but her eyes seemed to lock me in, and I stared at her, silent. I didn't find her attractive--or unattractive, for that matter--but her gaze, intense but open yet unexpectant, pulled me closer.

What followed was a conversation between new familiars, Jan and Dion. I've had this kind of conversation only a few times in my life, always with eventual friends, none of them with women: personal, but not deep, an incidental exchange of information: getting to know one another without intent, pretense, subterfuge, hope or expectation. And how refreshing to meet someone unafraid to be flawed! Unafraid of anything, it seemed, walking all over an unfamiliar town, venturing from her son's VCU apartment up to Carytown and intent upon extending her jaunt across 195 to take a look at the Mount Vernon townhouses, then down to Monument and back to base in the Fan. On her fancy touch-screen phone, head nearly touching hers, I showed her the route she should take, even touching the screen myself at her prompting. When she said, "We should meet for coffee somewhere," it was simply a suggestion, not a veiled come-on. She gave me her card, and we parted in separate directions. It was no longer difficult to head home. I'd gotten what I'd come for.