weekends in LA
absurdism
we were on the santa monica boardwalk when my phone buzzed. right in the middle of one of those rare, stretchy saturdays.
you know the kind, when the minutes seem to putter on and on instead of tick by furiously as they do on weekends. you look at your watch and find, with a smile, that there are still hours of sunlight to swim in, float about belly-up, on that great big ocean of afternoon.
you guys should check out this wine bar in malibu, she’d said, words muffled a bit by the speakerphone, you’d love it!
wanna go? we'd asked each other. we could probably make it before sunset.
so we skated back to the car, shook the sand off our wheels, and drove up along the coast, the little prius hugging the long, lazy turns, speeding past those white white waves, and all of a sudden, we were there. we pulled into the parking lot, squinted for a bit at the signs, decided to just park in the street.
the bar sat at the edge of the malibu mountains, just a couple meters from the water, and occupied an unassuming one-story building, the paint chipping and stained on the exterior, but newly remodeled and swankily modern in the interior. we ducked around hands grasping glasses twirling reds and whites before emerging out onto the back patio.
artificial green turf padded soft beneath our feet, beige canvases and string lights stretched taut above our heads.
there was a live reggae band playing, the sound system turned up just a little too high —not enough to make you cringe, but enough to hold steady at the front of your awareness. dotted amongst the crowd were spectacularly dressed drag queens, batting their long, full lashes. there had been a show today, apparently, that ended just before our arrival. i watched one of the contestants walk up to a taco truck parked at the edge of the patio, the kind you find yourself in line for at 3:00am when you’re fiending for some al pastor and red sauce. she lingered for a bit after placing her order, flirting, a grin painted across her face as she drawled daaaaahling.
we made our way to some seats near the back, next to a wooden camper van. i poked my head in and saw stained glass and handcrafted jewelry and exotic fabrics, à la lightning in a bottle. a woman, her eyes and hair gray and beautiful with age, sat calmly in the back. gently smiled and answered questions from curious patrons.
i turned my head back toward the stage, where the music had stopped for a brief respite.
a man in his twenties walked up to the stage, wobbling a little, and whispered something to the lead singer before handing him a crumpled bill. he returned happily to his table, all of whom were dressed in some sort of ski/snowboard theme, with colorful retro jumpsuits and silvery reflective goggles. they roared with approval as the band began to sing bob marley’s no woman no cry.
it was an outlandish scene —as if someone had chipped off a random piece from each of LA's neighborhoods, mixed it all together with a pinch of psychedelia, then poured it out onto this little patch of malibu.
i wondered, briefly, if i were dreaming.
the sun began its descent behind us, glinting off the rims of emptied wine glasses. i stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets. it was chilly, but a southern california winter chilly. cold enough to keep you on edge but not indoors.
through the string lights, darkening clouds rolled in — it was supposed to rain tomorrow, i remember hearing.
i watched my mind wander to that week’s menu of stressors…work projects i’d have to attend to on monday, the familiar list of insecurities and worries, etc...but then i stopped. firmly but gently. there are some moments in life where these thoughts just don’t belong.
and so we sat, soaking, in that strange, outlandish space on that infinite saturday.
the music was still a little too loud, the air was still a little too cold. they were still calling out numbers for tacos and people were ducking into the van to buy essential oils and drunk yuppies in ski masks danced next to drag queens sipping expensive wines and all of it was very weird and very lovely.
i let my head hang back and gazed up at the tree above us. full, round leaves, dark and green and glossy and heavy.
not everything has to make sense, i reminded myself.
the singer belted out the last few strains of the song —
Everything's gonna be all right
Everything's gonna be all right
