alate
“People often felt the need to prepare a side of themselves to display to passers-by – as they might in a store window.”
The day is hot—too hot—to be sitting in the small cafe reading. Her research blots out the best parts of the girl’s day; she sees only the 13’ screen. She orders a cheese and black bean burrito served in a bowl with a handful of dark grapes and chutney sauce. An odd combination. It sits beside her on the low wooden table, cold.
Though photosensitivity and nutrient shortages affect animals and plant life, humans are untouched by such fluctuations in natural conditions in developed societies. This poses a problem to the innate rhythms—or does it?
The girl sighs. Her paper is reductive. The only question is how to have political equality without economic equality. It’s graduation week, and amidst the bouffant hairstyles and tulle dresses, rallies at city hall spilled out onto the sidewalk toward route 66.
What a terrific time to be alive! The girl muses to herself, watching a group of graduates in shiny shoes march down Aspen ave carrying cardboard signs coloured in rainbow marker. ‘Laws OFF our BODIES!” and “Keep Abortion Safe and Legal” and “I Am A WOman, Not A WOMB” streaked across the blue sky.
A rowdy group of women enter the cafe wearing dark dresses embracing each curve. Their slinky robes are paired with pink-dyed denim backpacks, cropped leather jackets, chunky black boots, dark eyeliner with sparkly eyeshadow, and matte purple lipstick. Pastel Goth. This town oozed contradiction. The girl would expect Hippie Goth storming the streets—if any goth—but it’s the pretty pastel version with more boho and less grunge.
The goth girls order chai lattes and strawberries scones (another surprise) and shove their signs and bags into the corner table directly across from the girl. Knitting yarn is procured, and the troupe giggles and gabs over metallic needles' clicking.
Can you have political equality without economic equality?
A cute boy with long dark hair the girl is used to seeing closes his book, finishes the last three sips of his iced coffee, tidies his table, and leaves. The couple sharing earphones and a wedge of chocolate brownie also depart. The youth in the white dress who’d removed her white espadrilles, busying herself with job resumes across the long dark table, frowns toward the corner. The goth girls speak at an octave too high and punctuate the small room with raucous laughter. The youth carefully stacks the papers and slips them into her purse. She ties her sandals around each ankle and walks out into the sun.
The girl sighs.
It’s twilight when she leaves the cafe—the streets bustle with students and proud parents. Musicians set up on the busiest street corners with violins, drums, keyboards, and guitars. Electric and acoustic. The girl tinkles with caffeine. Appetite suppressed and itchy from sitting for so long, she walks across the tracks to the south side of town.
San Fransisco ave spews twenty-somthings from restaurant doorjams. A group of fifteen waits outside The Mayor, trading cigarettes for pretty gossip. A girl in a ruffled orange top and thigh-high boots waves from Lumberyard Brewing. A lanky boy in an olive dress shirt sits in an ally with a golden puppy on his lap.
The girl keeps walking.
Past the bars and tattoo parlour, there’s a yoga studio. The building presents a wide wooden porch with yellow and blue rails. A group of androgynous youth sit on the stone steps with blankets and cushions on their laps.
Hey, nice boots!
Thanks, said the girl.
Where are you going?
I’m just walking.
Were you at the rally?
No.
If you have no plans, you should join us.
For what?
The sound bath. It’s the best event this studio offers.
Look—the tallest dressed in white said, gesturing to the doorway.
The girl peers past the shaved heads to observe the insides of the building. A man in dark pants and a baggy sweatshirt is bent over a selection of metal bowls. Three gongs are positioned at the North, South, and East corners of the wide room, with a large deerskin drum offering itself to the West facing the porch. Between the gongs are various instruments the girl doesn’t recognize. Maracas, chimes, bongo drums and crystal bowls are placed atop round silk cushions.
That’s Jan. He’s the host of the event. There’s another person with him tonight, Lila. She’s over there in the lilac shirt. She’s going to sing. See? By the harmonium.
What do I need to do?
Nothing. You just receive it. That’s the best part.
Look, the one with hazel green eyes said, you can sit on my blanket. Or lay down. Or lean against the wall. Come with me; I’ll help you get set up.
Curiosity calls the cat, and the girl follows the trio inside. Participants set up blankets, cushions and yoga mats in a circle along the wall outside the instruments. Lila, a little to the edge of the center of the instruments, hums and strokes the keys of the wooden box in front of her. Jan greets familiar faces and smiles at the girl, adding a curt nod as she walks in.
There’s a washroom through the doors at the back and tea by the alter. I’d get a drink and take care of yourself before we start. Here, I’ll lay the blanket this way so you can sit or recline, whatever you prefer.
How long is it?
Oh, about an hour or so.
Where shall I put my bag?
Beside you is fine.
Hazel-eyes walks away to her group to sit down. The girl places her bag on the floor and looks around. The studio had high ceilings and stained glass windows. Walking toward the bathroom, the girl notices miniature portraits of people in white frames hanging along the dark hallway. The bathroom tiles are cold. The girl quickly washes her hands and rinses her mouth before returning to the spot on the floor.
Photo source.
