The Boy from the Band

I'm Okay, Well Sort of

I would be happy if I could, that's the best way I can describe how I'm feeling. Rick took my heart with him to Woodstock leaving a big fucking hole.

Gina is glad he's gone. "About time," she says even though she knows how I'm feeling. She'll start trying to introduce me to various men when she thinks the time is right, but it won't do any good, I don't know when I'll be ready.

Here I am with enough money to pay my bills, splurge on some stuff, and still have plenty to shove into the bank and I'm not feeling the love. I've already bought a new wetsuit and surfboard, and a Raleigh--I have a yen to start cycling again. All this should lift my spirits but it hasn't.

Oh, and a new-used 1975 Mustang. Not the car I envisioned, but I saw it sitting in a lot at a Ford dealership in Torrance and I fell in love. It's dark blue with a tan interior, a great stereo, not to mention the fact that it's got a V-8 and it's fast. I said goodbye to my little Celica without even a hint of remorse.

I need to make sure I don't go on a spending spree—and right now it would be all too easy. I'm going to indulge in my love for Disneyland and will be taking a weekend trip to San Francisco. I wish I'd gotten Bob Weir's number but maybe it's just as well, I don't know if I could sleep with anyone right now, I miss Rick too much.

Saint Dorothy the blessed clerk has scheduled me a three-day weekend in two weeks. Gina is pushing me to go somewhere, anywhere, even if it's only as far as Big Sur. I'm going to take the plunge and head to SF. I made reservations at the Downtown Hilton for sentimental reasons--I wonder what Eric is up to these days? I am going to rent a car when I get there, it's almost a six-hour drive and I'd rather have the extra time to explore the city.

I have a three o'clock flight, which should get me to the Hilton just in time for check-in. I've reserved a car at Hertz and they've promised the paperwork will be ready for me to sign.

Out of the blue comes the feeling that I shouldn't be doing this. There is a part of me that is waiting for the phone to ring and hear Rick's voice. He's kept his key, I don't know why he didn't offer to return it and I was too upset to think about asking for it back. As far as I am concerned he can keep it.

I'm looking forward to stepping onto that plane. I love flying, it's like it takes me out of myself. Stepping onto a plane always fills me with anticipation and a sense of adventure--all the doubts I feel slip away. I feel sorry for anyone who is afraid of flying.

After we land in San Francisco I pick up my rental car and drive downtown and check into the Hilton. I was going to ask for the name of a good restaurant but decide to drive to Fisherman's Wharf and eat at Alioto's. The food is good, the waiters are friendly, and they have a nice assortment of wines.

After dinner, I wander around the wharf with the rest of the tourists. I'm feeling okay for now but the tears are always ready to come to the surface. I finally see one too many happy couples so I drive back to the hotel where I can cry in peace—alone.

The next morning my tears are gone, I wake and feel energized. I eat breakfast at the hotel coffee shop and set out to re-acquaint myself with one of my favorite cities. I head to Golden Gate Park and take pictures with my new Nikon. I stumble, literally, into a little pool and look up to see palm trees and ferns, a mini-tropical paradise. I go to Seal Rocks and watch the sea lions, then when I'm tired of that I go to Fisherman's Wharf and wander around and look at what the vendors are selling.

There's a section of the wharf where people can set up tables and sell just about anything from jewelry to tee-shirts to anything else that will fit on a table. I fall in love with a long-sleeved blouse that has been batiked in various shades of blue. I find a jewelry vendor who's selling lapis lazuli and I splurge and buy a ring, earrings, and a pendant to match the blouse.