Weave the Web

Bob was a friend, a 50ish ex-federal prosecutor who'd ditched his job in Philadelphia to come to San Francisco to become a healer.  In 1989 we lived in the same boarding house, a pit stop for single people of all ages who, like me, had moved to San Francisco recently and were staying there until they found permanent places to live.

 

 “I had a dream last night,” he told me one morning over coffee.  “About this woman....I got a very strong feeling you should meet her.”  His healing courses included how to recognize mystical connections between people.  My ears perked up.

   

“I'll give her a call,” I said.  “Let her know?”

     

I was slow to follow up and didn't get around to calling for a couple of weeks.  I don't remember why.  Maybe I was busy at work or just lazy.  Who knows.  Anyway, I eventually did call.  Bob had told her the same story, i.e. that he'd gotten a message in a dream that the two of us should connect.

   

With little prompting, she told me lots about herself.  She was becoming more and more interesting.  I was 53 years old, three years out of a divorce and in no serious relationship.

   

We decided to meet in person.   We couldn't meet right away in the warm aftermath of our conversation.  I was about to travel on business for a couple of weeks.  When I got back , I got caught up in other things and a few more weeks went by.  It wasn't that I wasn't interested.  For whatever reasons,  I didn't put it at the top of my list.  I'm a slow starter.

    

Bob hectored me one morning.  I gave her a call.  

    

We decided to get together for coffee at Clown Alley, a fast food place about 5 blocks from the boarding house.  She knew Clown Alley.  She passed it every day driving to work.

   

I got there early.  I don't remember whether it was morning or afternoon, but it was a Saturday.  The customers were sparse.  I sat by a window where I could see anyone coming down the street.  Like the restaurant, the street was basically empty, but suddenly a woman appeared.  Even from a distance, she was attractive.  Her walk was purposeful but casual.  She wore a white shirt and yellow skirt...the skirt had lots of figures on it but I don't remember of what.  She had a smile in her eyes and on her lips.

    

“Nancy”, I said at the door, hoping this interesting woman was her. 

 

“Yes,” she said while, I'm sure, sizing me up.  I was already smitten.

    

So that day began 28 years of being together.  I was carrying a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance under my arm.  I think that intrigued her enough to come in, sit down, and start a conversation that has never ceased.

 

Loren Hickman/December 21, 2017  ​