Part 4 (1/2)

I took my time before answering. We peppered each other with many questions, some light-hearted and answered off-the-cuff, some given careful consideration. For this one, I dug deep for an answer. Two came to mind. The first was Robert's from the night before. Robert is a close friend and brilliant writer. If he says to change something, I change it. Delete it, shorten it, whatever he suggests. My first book was a children's fantasy book. I had no idea what I was doing, simply learning on the fly, finding the speed b.u.mps as I drove over them. I sent the first fifty pages to him with the simple question, ”Is this worth pursuing?” I was still acting but my pa.s.sion for it had disappeared (not for the craft itself, but the frustration that accompanies it).

After reading it, Robert answered, ”I'm way impressed by the depth of this. I'm proud of you for doing this, Mike, just following the urge, following the story. I'm looking forward to reading more.”

It inspired me and gave me a clean conscience to give up acting. I'm stubborn and don't believe in quitting anything, but after his encouragement, I was able to. I saw it as trading one artistic vehicle for another.

Anyone who has pursued an artistic endeavor knows how fragile confidence can be, especially in pursuits where success is determined by the subjective tastes of others. An artist can feel he's on top of the game one moment, like an imposter and fool the next. It's not healthy to need continual validation-an artist is never in a sound place unless he's developed thick skin-but an occasional compliment, delivered at the perfect time, can do wonders for inspiration.

Robert's was the first compliment that came to mind because I heard it the previous night, but it wasn't the best...not even close. That's a vocational compliment. It's secondary, meaningless in the long run, the sweeping framework of our lives. In the end, all we have are people and memories. Our lives will be measured by those we've known, loved and have been able to bless. There was only one answer to her question. My best compliment was given years ago and none since had come close.

I worked in a coffee shop in Seattle for three and a half years while playing in bands. In those days, I was on fire spiritually and it carried over to how I interacted with people. The coffee shop was on the second floor of an office building, occupied by a software company, law firm and several adjacent businesses. I served a regular stream of customers, probably two hundred every day, and kept a notepad under the cash register that I filled with customers' names and information they told me about themselves (where they were from, interests, etc...). I read through the notebook daily, memorizing it. When one of my regulars entered, I'd usually have his drink ready by the time he got through the line to order. Customers often invited me to lunch or to go out with them after work. Several nominated me for ”Best Barista in Seattle.” I'd hang out with anyone, anytime, especially if I could steer the conversation toward faith and G.o.d.

One day, a paralegal from the law firm came in for coffee. I made her latte and, as it was slow at the time, we spoke at the register for several minutes. I don't remember how the conversation turned in such direction but we began talking about G.o.d.

”I'm a Christian,” I said.

”Oh, I know.”

It caught me by surprise. ”How did you know?”

”It's obvious,” she replied.

I still get chills when thinking about it. The best compliment of my life, at least up to that point. I didn't know I was about to receive one that equaled it.

”That's one of the first things I noticed about you,” Jessie said. ”You respect people. It shows. It's not done with ulterior motives.”

It was hard to believe the compliment in the coffee shop could ever be replaced, but I think it was at that moment. I don't know how the rest of my life turns out on this fickle earth, but I hope when it's all said and done, one day when I draw my final breath, those who knew me will say I had a deep respect for people.

I turned the question around on her.

”I'd probably say it was when someone told me I had a big heart and an inner beauty that matched the outer.”

”Who said that?” I feigned ignorance, wanting to lighten the mood. Not too much, though.

”I forget.”

”I meant it. It's been a joy getting to know you.”

It got late. Time seemed to disappear when I was with her. Every time I said, ”Five more minutes,” thirty would pa.s.s. At 3 a.m., she drove me to the hotel, though I didn't fall asleep until much later, recounting the moments of the evening, the joy from them, the heart blush I was feeling.

The next morning, Pastor Ali, the a.s.sistant pastor, was preaching. ”Our circ.u.mstances,” he said, ”can weigh us down so heavily that all we see are those circ.u.mstances. But if we focus on the character of G.o.d, the circ.u.mstances will take a healthier, smaller perspective, in light of G.o.d's power and love.” Again, the sermon met me exactly where I was in my life. After the service, Jessie and I walked to the front to meet him. I thanked him for his words. We said h.e.l.lo to a few of Jessie's friends but left as soon as we could. We had a train to catch-but not before we watered her parents' yard.

She was behind on doing it and they were returning the next day. She showed me how to water the plants in the front and disappeared to the backyard (though I did spray her a quick time before she left-not enough to get her noticeably wet, just enough to flirt). She finished before me and came to the front, holding a white rose picked from one of the backyard bushes. She held it for me to smell. I quickly finished the row of fence line plants I was watering, we got some snacks for the road and left for the station.

I expected a bustle of activity. However, the station, not far from my hotel, was empty. No attendants. No one, in fact. We didn't know what the weather would be like and brought jackets and sweaters to be safe. I bought our tickets and we settled in; we still had a while before the train arrived. She said she'd forgotten something in the car and would be right back. I walked onto the tracks and tried balancing on them.

When she returned, I motioned for her to join me and we held a contest to see who could tight rope the track the longest. I think I stayed on a few seconds longer, then we went to wait on the bench.

”That was my friend Gene on the phone. He can't go to Dar's wedding with me.”

What I hadn't told her was I really wanted to go with her to the wedding. I'd made suggestive comments...no one could care about karaoke as much as I pretended. We were at the tricky spot in a new relations.h.i.+p. Did we go to a wedding together or not? I'm sure one could make an argument for either case.

She paused briefly. ”What are you doing on the 22nd?”

”I think I'm going to a wedding.”

”Are you sure? I know it's a lot for you to come up here.”

”I'm sure.”

We sat calmly, waiting for the train. Two other pa.s.sengers arrived, both wearing Giants t-s.h.i.+rts and hats, one carrying a cooler.

”I really wanted to go to the wedding,” I confessed.

”I know you did.”

The Caltrain runs from San Jose to AT&T Park. It's cheaper than driving to the city and paying for parking, not to mention dealing with the ha.s.sle of San Francisco traffic on a game day. For us, it was wonderful but not for those reasons. This was us being able to sit closely together, holding each other and watching the pa.s.sengers on the train. A group of drunk college guys from South Carolina sat behind us, drinking Budweiser and belching loudly, making tasteless jokes about women, recounting the drunken escapades of their California vacation. We talked to them briefly, then she reached into her purse for her iPod. She offered me one of the ear buds and played me some of her favorite music: a French song (the name of which I can't remember), one of my favorite Ryan Adams songs, ”La Cienega Just Smiled,” and a version of ”Abide With Me.”

Who can say the power of memory and experience? Some moments in life stick with us forever. No reason why they should stand above the rest, but they do and are never forgotten. As it was happening, I knew this was one of those moments. Sitting with our cheeks touching, listening to her favorite wors.h.i.+p song. I rubbed her arm gently and noticed two small sunspots below her elbow. A memory never forgotten.

Thou has not left me Though I've oft left thee Until the close, Lord Abide with me With watering the plants and rus.h.i.+ng to the station, we hadn't eaten lunch and were both hungry. The game was still an hour from starting. I also wanted to get coffee. During my first trip to San Francisco, I had visited the Ferry Building and found the Blue Bottle Coffee stand. To that day, it remained my favorite coffee, and I'm sure she was tired of hearing of me talk about it as much as I had. We saw the Ferry Building in the distance-it looked a long way.

”How far do you think it is?”

”At least a mile and a half. Think we can we make it?”

”Let's go.”

We started walking-each carrying a bundle of sweaters in one arm, holding hands with the other-but quickly realized our aim had exceeded our reach. We were exhausted by the time we arrived. The only vendor still open was a salted-pig and prosciutto stand. ”World Famous,” the sign said. However, they'd stopped making sandwiches for the day. The only thing left on the menu was a paper snow cone filled with prosciutto and other cured meats. It looked disgusting; and sadly, it tasted worse than it looked. We threw them away and walked back to the stadium, a little quicker this time, wis.h.i.+ng for a taxi ride, still laughing at the fatty snow cones. And why did we bring so many clothes? It was 90 degrees outside.

I live in L.A. but am not a Dodgers fan. I grew up three hours from St. Louis, a small town north of Memphis, ten miles from the Missouri border. The only team around was the Cardinals. All the games were on radio or TV and we drove to Busch Stadium occasionally on the weekends. It's very rare that I abandon a sports team, regardless if I've moved to another team's town. I stayed a Cardinals fan when I lived in Seattle, including the year the Mariners won 115 games, and I've stayed one through nine years in Los Angeles. As for the Giants, I didn't know many players on the team, but there was an ex-Cardinal on the roster, Edgar Renteria. I was sorry when the Cardinals let him go; he was always one of my favorites.

Entering the stadium, we heard raucous chants of ”Beat L.A.” We found a food stand serving garlic fries, bought an order, as well as two drinks, and returned to our seats. At the Ferry Building, she'd bought a box of fruit pte that she swore by. I looked at the price tag. It was $22 a box.

”$22,” I said. ”For candy?”

”It's so good, Michael. Just wait. You'll agree.”

”It better be for that much.”

She opened the box and gave me the first piece. I didn't think any candy was worth $22, but I had to admit: If any was, it was this candy.

”Here, try another flavor.”