2009-10-09T06:47:00.000-07:00

Right There Right Then
by Georgia Menides

Monday Morning.
Late for the office.
The cars were like flies to dead meat on Vista del Mar,
And I didn't have time for this.

So I took an illegal right through a back alley,
Praying the cosmic benevolent energy
Would lead my Toyota to work on its own.

But the air didn't smell alive around my car.
I looked left.
Black smoke billowed out the window
From a second story apartment.
I called 911, pulled over
And sat on my hood,
Chomping nicorette,
Until the fire trucks arrived.

Tuesday morning,
A lady in a pink jogging suit
Knocked on my office door.

Shelly was a waitress,
A single mom,
A struggling stress case.

Sunday night she'd pulled the rare all- nighter to finish her taxes.
Just in time to drive Alice to kindergarten.
She’d come home to a well deserved xanax and glass of wine.
With plans to sleep till 3, pick up Alice, drop her off at the sitters,
And head to her dinner shift.

She was too tired to think about the incense she'd left burning in the bathroom.
She was knocked out when the cup tipped over, spilling it onto the rug.
She was in tears when she said,
"If you hadn't driven by right then, I would have burned in my sleep."
She said, "If you hadn't been right there right then, Alice would have grown up without a mom."

It was one of the moments
Where everything in the universe fused together,
With specific purpose.
I was an integral fiber,
On that malleable karmic spindle.
That forms and reforms again.
Connecting everything that should happen
Into different shapes,
As we choose and choose and choose.
And for reasons that stretched far beyond
My understanding of any of this,
Shelly was not destined to die on Monday morning.

My boss was quick to point out
That indirectly,
He had saved Alice's childhood.
Because if he hadn't hired me 3 months ago
Shelly would have burned in that fire and I thought about that.

I left the office.
I walked the three blocks down to the water.
Witness to the intelligent design of every ocean cell,
I knew for certain that indeed, everything happens for a reason.

So I thought about those cars on Vista Del Mar again
Every driver pissed and late for work themselves.
Every one of them had saved Shelly's life on Monday morning.

I thought about the pasty faced drones at Office Team.
Mindlessly running my resume through their job bank, searching for a match.
Anna in reception was probably watching the clock right now.
Trapped in her dreary world of data entry.
But without Anna, Alice wouldn't have grown up without a mom.

Of course I thought about Phil Anderson's lips.
Extra soft and sweet on Sunday night,
When he finally said "You want to come inside for a bit?"
Phil Anderson's freckly skin was hard to peel away from Monday morning.
The reason I was late for work.
And that had happened for a reason.

Then I thought about the artist in San Fransisco
Who had broken Phil's heart so hard
He'd moved back home to Santa Monica.
That crazy bitch had saved the life of a small child.

Then I thought about Hank.
And about Doug.
And about every boy who had broken my heart
From the time I was in kindergarten.
And suddenly, I was over every one of them,
Because they had all led me to this point on that spindle,
Where I was single and looking
That night at the Flogging Molly show
When Phil Anderson first walked into the club.

What if they guys in Flogging Molly has never formed a band?
Shelly would be dead right now.

Then I thought about the hunger strike in Dublin in 1996.
The Protestants against the Catholics.
North VS south.
All this pointless us-ness against them-ness.

I thought about Edward Molly.
The English teacher at Doherty Elementary.
Tortured to death by IRA extremists.
This tragedy igniting the spark,
For those four students to form a band.
To record their first cd.

All this had effortlessly come together
To bring my car to 60 Kelp Street on Monday morning.
And this was one small fiber on the spindle,
Reforming to connect Shelly's fate
With the choices made in Dublin in 1996.
But for me, Dublin wasn't even the point.

The point was I'd been bummed that my film has gotten rejected from Sundance.
Leaving me stuck in my temp job that week.

Driving to the office Monday morning,
I was prepped for a week of my own torture.
Every day would be a constant reminder
Of the chasm between my dreams and my reality.

The point was I'd been bummed that it'd taken Phil Anderson this long
To finally make a move.
I'd cursing the name of this San Fransisco bitch,
Whose claws were clearly still in his heart.

The point was I was still pissed at Marnie McRell
For convincing me to light that first parliament in 7th grade.
Triggering an addition; smoking
Which triggered an addiction; nicorette,
Triggering gum erosion, the surgery,
The total esclipse of my bank account.
Forcing me register with Office Team in the first place.

But today I was allowed a glimpse
Into the spindle,
Usually beyond my comprehension.
I could feel these points in my life, locking me into something bigger.
And for a moment, everything was as it should be.

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