Tango In the Alley

There has been a lot of transition afoot at 69 Brosnan Street these past few weeks. On June 30, Fairley moved out, and in exchange we got a new permanent housemate, Ethan Frome, and just for July a subletter, Courtney, (Julie's in Guatemala). Although I forced myself to move several times a year from the time I was 18 until I was 26, I really don't do well with change. That being said, the new housemates are really fun. So fun that it's been like a slumber party, I've been staying up late in my pjs gabbing all night just because I'm so excited that I can stay up late talking to them, even if it is a school night.

So I was already running late when I left the house last Friday because I woke up a little on the tardy side and then chatted too long in the kitchen over breakfast. I was going to therapy and I hate being even a minute late to that because it's my dime. However, I am nothing if not a total crazy cat lady, so when I saw the neighbors cat, Zen, hanging out on the street I immediately put his safety over my punctuality and ran to save him.

Zen is a cute little one but he's scrappy, more of a drifter than a housecat; he cuts across the fence to hang out in our backyard all day with my cat Finn and the two downstairs black-and-white-brother-sister team. He has an owner (the fool that named the little furball 'Zen') but the thing is skinny, and whenever he runs in the house he eats Finn's food.

Anyway, I scooped up Zen and ran back to my building with him in my arms. I intended to leave him in my apartment to play with Finn and then leave through the backdoor at his leisure, therefore, removing him from the danger of the streets. He was struggling and 'meeping' (his meows sound more like meeps) in my arms and I released him to go for my keys but then he ran away. So I chased him. In chasing him I pulled his tail, (yes, my fatal error) and he turned around and rolled on his back. I tried to pick him up again and he bit and clawed me with such ferociousness that any illusions I held about cats loving humans at heart were immediately erased.

I ran back home, clutching my bleeding wrist and ran into my apartment, shouting to my housemates that I had been attacked. They gathered round me in the bathroom and the hippy subletter administered lavender oil after I had washed up. I now had 10 minutes to get to my therapy appointment which is a 25 minutes walk from my house. The 26 bus runs up Valencia but it rarely comes. However, luck was with me, because just as I got to 16 and Mission the bus arrived!

I climbed aboard, fumbled with my wallet and discovered that I only had a $10 and a $20. 'Do you have change?' I asked the bus driver, waving my ten in his face. 'No.' He shook his head as the bus lurched away from the curb. I turned and stumbled into the aisle, trying to steady myself as the bus pitched back and forth. I must have looked like a lunatic yuppie, clutching my ipod in my bleeding left hand and my wallet and cash with the other. I asked each old lady I came upon for change for a ten, averting my gaze, they all shook their heads no. I was S.O.L. (shit outta luck) as my mom would say.

"Will the bus driver kick me off this thing?" I wondered. "How long can I go before I have to admit defeat?" Finally a nice skate boarder dude (I know that's usually an oxymoron) gave me a dollar.

"Maybe you can find 50 cents?" He said.

"Thank you, thank you!" I gushed. I fished a quarter out of my backpack and went up to pay the driver. "Is this ok?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah." He accpted it and even gave me a transfer, which I didn't think I had earned. I went back to thank the skateboarder again and then found a seat so I could clean myself up. I sat down, busy with my task of smearing white goo and applying little band-aids to my bleeding wounds. One of them was really deep, it was gross. I looked up and several people looked away.

"Oh, I get it." I thought. "I'm the craziest person on the bus." Whenever I get on any bus, I immediately scan it to determine who is the craziest of the crazy and then I sit as far away from that person as possible. That day, I had the honor of fulfilling that role on the 10am 26/Valencia, it's on the nicer side so there's not a lot of competition for the distinction like on some lines.

I was late to therapy but I wouldn't have gotten there without the kindness of strangers, so I didn't feel that angry. After my appointment I went to the office and bandaged myself. With white gauze and tape all around I looked like a suicide attempt victim. At the grocery store that evening, the cashier stared at my wrist. I chuckled to myself, happy that I was finally able to live out my Empire Records adolescent angst fantasies without ever having to mangle myself.