Serendipity

Serendipity called my name a few times this week.

I ran into the same person twice in one day. Someone I haven’t seen or talked to in probably 3 years if not more. A person who, I know only through the lens of social media and commentary on grid posts, has experienced many of the highs and lows of walking away from a life that once was and has been finding themselves in all the ways of the universe. We have shared similar journeys and similar emotions and though we didn’t speak often, I saw them. I watched Instagram stories and remembered. And we shared a smile at the pleasant exchanges, kind eyes, and smile lines reflecting back a silent “I see you, I know you, I am you”

The second time we ran into each other, I was walking into a wine shop to watch my friend Mara read some new poetry musings. Sunshine Becky, as she is saved in my phone, was walking out of the same shop from reading some writings of her own. She gave me her printed papers from which she read since I missed her reading.

A few nights later, I sat in bed in my studio AirBNB underneath someone’s house with a borrowed beer and pimento cheese clumsily spread on freshly baked bread from my hosts and read her words. I didn’t keep the papers but I remember some of the words. She had a writing about her cat, how graceful but clumsy she is; a gentle lover and a bitch; sultry but timid. The last line poses the question: did you ever hear the thought that how you see your pet is how you see yourself? I reread the whole poem twice again from the beginning to discover a new Sunshine Becky.

I have been thinking about getting a tattoo in remembrance of my daddy ever since the day he left us earthside. I have thought about what I would want and where and who could I bestow that tremendous honor and tedious pressure upon. Who could do this work justice? 3 years is in a few days. I commented to my friend Bella at breakfast that she just needed some spontaneity in her life - like going to get a tattoo. An hour later, I was sitting in a tattoo parlor. Turns out, the words of wisdom were just for myself. I was staying in my old neighborhood and there were a few things in walking distance. The newest addition to the neighborhood since my last time in town was a tattoo shop - I called, and they had one opening all day that was 30 minutes later. I chugged some water, looked myself in the mirror, and walked 8 blocks. The receptionist told me it was my lucky day - they had been booked up for weeks and there was a no-show; the only reason I was there. Another 30 minutes later I had my dad’s handwriting permanently inscripted on my arm. I walked the 8 blocks back to my studio, clutching my jacket a little tighter as it began to softly rain. As soon as I locked the door behind me, I kicked my loafers off, climbed into the too-small-and-too-short-bed, and softly cried over my new memorial offering.

After an hour, I peeled the bandage off, ripped the tape from around my forearm, and softly ran my fingers over the raised skin. The words are written upside down from my view; the tattoo artist refused to position it facing towards me. After watching his scrutiny over the picture I gave him and how he tried his best to get every pen stroke just right from my late father’s scribbles, I understood how much more difficult that would have been for him to do upside-down. I understand, but I still wish I could see the message as if it was written for my eyes only. I took a picture and shared it on Instagram. Mostly because I wanted to share the news with some friends but also because I could use a little attention and sweet messages. I got a bit of both.

Madison and I are never in town at the same time since we both moved away a few years ago. She was in town for a 24-hour overlap. We met up for coffee and breakfast with Bella. I paid for their coffees and our shared pastries after a few pleas against it and I reminded them to show their mother some respect. I also called myself father 45 minutes later. Madison and I decided we wanted to try a bunch of different things. We ordered a morning bun, a fancy croissant, a tartine, and a ham and cheese bialy. Bella told us she couldn’t eat any of it because of her acid reflux. Her favorite was the butternut squash and goat cheese tartine. Madison told us about her new love interest. Bella told us about her wedding planning conversations. I told them we were about to move out of our apartment and travel for a little bit. We all hugged and I watched as they drove their cars over the treacherous hill we watched 3 trucks spin gravel on. Madison’s Subaru rolled over the hills with no problems. That’s the thing about men with big trucks versus lesbians and their SUVs.

A few of my former and current coworkers in Raleigh host a monthly happy hour. It was moved up to the week I was in town because of the holiday season later this month. I got to surprise a few folks I haven’t seen in a while. I also got to see my “nephew.” He did not let me kiss him goodbye. I stole one anyway while he screeched and squirmed about.

I booked the studio AirBNB mostly because it was in the general area of my old neighborhood. I got the check-in instructions. The address showed a street that I knew was kittycorner to my old place. Turns out, the address is for the main house but where the garage studio was, my window looked out onto the side wall of my friend Jeff’s house. His address is the same house number as my old place, just one street back. He made two types of cookies and left me 4 in the passenger seat of his perpetually unlocked Chevy Tahoe. I had a hangover from the night before where we sat at the bar and told old stories. This is where he told me about his cookie-making and how he was experimenting with corn nuts and toffee. I sent him a video of myself trying and rating them. 6/10 and 9.5/10.

serendipity - noun - ser·​en·​dip·​i·​ty

the gift of finding valuable or agreeable things not looked for

Maybe I should just stop looking.