I Got Soul, But I'm Not a Soldier

Last night, I was visited by spirits.

My roommate called around six to inform me that his friend Lara was in town, would be staying at our place, and would be hanging out at home with me until he got home from work around midnight. I was wrapped up in a game of Starcraft and reluctantly pulled myself out of it in preparation for company. Minutes later, with Lara en route, I get a second phone call. A very brief one from my friend Tony, in town from UCLA, asking what I was doing and, upon learning that I was doing nothing, hanging up on me and showing up at my door five minutes later with my ex boyfriend Brendan in tow.

When Lara arrived, the boys and I were in the living room and we spent a few minutes getting to know each other before she expressed a need for coffee, having been up since five. Following Brendan's infinite coffee wisdom, we headed to Claire De Lune. The coffee (on the Lara scale) got about a C-minus, which saddened all of us. But while we were in line, we noticed the stage on the other side of the coffee shop was slowly being occupied with the octogenarian members of a band called The Uptown Rhythm Makers. We hadn't seen these guys before, and the fact that there was no way any of them were not on Medicare led us to believe in the inevitable horror of the following performance.

Morbidly curious, we stayed for a while watching them set up, snuggled into a corner couch and the surrounding chairs, nursing cups of coffee. Lara was saying that the C-minus gained by the coffee had been brought up to a B-minus due to the hilarity of old guys with their instruments. We were soon joined by Hanna, who also sat down to watch the utter failure that was sure to be this band.

A trumpet, a slide trombone, a drum set, a clarinet, a tuba, a banjo, and a singer, playing New Orleans Jazz. Fabulous. They were amazing, and we stayed for an hour to see them. An older couple began to swing dance, which I watched with relish. Then younger couples started, too, and I was once again blown away by how deceivingly large the dance community in San Diego actually is. Mid-set, Tom showed up with his laptop and tried to hang out and do his homework simultaneously.

Eventually, we tore ourselves away from the scene and went back to my apartment to drink wine and talk about life. I fell in love with Lara, and when the children finally left, she and I sat up for a little while with my roommate.

The next morning was breakfast at Brian's. The most amazing French Toast I'd ever had, plus eggs and sausage and strawberry compote and Lara's biscuit because she doesn't eat gluten. Coffee at Cafe Callabria, where I saw a girl I'd known and sort of despised in high school.

Lara came up with an idea for my last weekend living with my roommate. She would grab Tony, drive down from L.A. and we'd rally the troops for a huge weekend bash to celebrate. We've already got plans in the works, and I'm ridiculously excited.

Last night, I had a dream that I'm pretty sure is going to be the next novel. Maybe a short story. But it's already gotten under my skin.