Fade In: Kin & Courting
Odd as it were; I had only just seen my cousin a couple of months ago. I had only met her a few times in my life. She was of the older clan of cousins we shared. But I'll never forget, she said, "I want you to come. I want you to be here." And when I arrived, she said, "Welcome home." I didn't have a clue what she meant. I shrugged it off and accepted a glass of wine. My friend and I would be sitting with the family for dinner, throwing - jokes and jabs-- with three little munchkins who fell into the quick rhythm of dry humor. It was like a backwards family reunion with kin, connected only by the past and by the fathers who grew up on opposite ends of an awkward Irish Catholic upbringing. Nevertheless, it was where I was to stay for the next few weeks as I got my feet wet and made the best of a nomadic attempt to hide underwater.
My friend and I had driven six hours from Phoenix to L.A. - and frankly we were both done with driving for awhile, at least that's what I thought, but if you've ever been in L.A. traffic, you'd know it's a pain the ass and no one has time, but then again be prepared to take you're time because you'll be stuck bumper to bumper for a while. The brightest moment between the two cities was the lonely gas station just outside the California border that had gas for less than three dollars and personal pan pizzas that I don't think went well for either of us in the end. Needless to say, the ride was over - and she was leaving while I was to make my way on the west coast from now until...well, whenever.
I settled back into a mode of thinking that ultimately was a robotic way communicating among family types that seems so easily familiar and quickly gave me room to forget the reason I had come in the first place or why I had left in such a hurry from the last place. It wasn't as if I were looking for anything in particular, except a job in a town where everybody's and actor and a waitress - and pressing their luck with plastic surgery to get into the industry.
The friendliness was fake, of course, and the routine of every meeting I went into, I felt like I needed to have a song and dance ready for an audition, -- media skills and production just weren't what they were looking for and I swear my height was examined every time I applied at a restaurant -- or maybe I didn't show off enough cleavage? Who the hell knew, but what I figured out was that this wasn't meant to be easy, nor did I have the time. Deep down, I don't think that I had the stamina to stay in big bad L.A. where everybody is somebody even when they're nobody and knowing somebody is the key to everything. How far was So-Cal?
Every day I went out to the field, accepted an interview, filled out a million applications and asked for the head of who ever was in charge. And every day, I came up empty. Blasted all. Then again, where was that guy that called himself Eric, with a successful media production company out of Georgia and California who had promised me a freelance gig editing material for various clients and when I showed up, he never did. No emails, no return phone calls and that promised meeting never came to pass. I had heard rumors about him that he was flakey and really just a jack-ass, and he wasn't proving them wrong. But I didn't have time for him, so I gave up and haggled with my other sources. I didn't know what I wanted, but I knew I had to find it. I was determined, I'd figure it out, at least that's what I told myself to get through the day.
Meantime, I was doing my best to go to football games, cook dinner and offer anything I could to earn my keep. It was a full house and it was bustling all the time. Four children from age 3 to 19 - it was like a scene out of a Roadrunner cartoon, only with more characters passing each other day and night with feet that looked like faded circles; they were spinning so fast. Often the dinner table was the one moment where everything was calm and gentle laughter bounced off the walls of the kitchen.
Then again, there the awkward moments of parents disciplining children or perhaps a flustered phrase that exceeded the normal levels of conversation and on such occasions, as I was not the subject for any of the loud noises, I escaped to the room I was given and tried to preoccupy my mind, not remembering I had left months of arguing behind. The safety of that small space was the only place I could go and certainly my own mind wasn't a blank sheet of paper anymore, it was over run with words and phrases and pictures and ideas that honestly weren't actually going anywhere. They were just there and I was not here, for I left here and fled into there, - the crazy was too complicated to really put down, only because the phrases on paper were too simple to really define what was going on in my mind.
The weeks were passing quickly and it was almost Thanksgiving - almost a month and I was ready to move on. One tried to convince me that I would not make it in LA, let alone California at all, another told me my decision to leave behind a steady paycheck and benefits was the stupidest decision I could have made and if I ever came back, I'd better be ready to commit, while still the days I was spending at my cousin's were growing weary for me, for her, for all. I was exhausted, I was very grateful and I was ready to be on my own.
There was still no job offer on the table and I had accepted the fact that I didn't really want to be in a city where I was expected to compete with everyone I met on the street. San Diego looked promising and so I worked my way down for interviews and scouting. Would it work out? Hell if I knew, I was just ready to be somewhere a little more chill and a little less busy. This west coast thing was becoming a burden and LA was starting to feel like where I had come from. I was suffocating. Gotta go, new place, new space.
I was wearing thin...
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