A day in the city

A week before there had been fighting.  Not fighting that had happened a week ago, fighting that had happened for an entire week.  The kind of fighting where anything you say sets the other person off and vice versa so that passions run high over whether or not the water filter is expired or how tucked in the bottom of the sheet should be or how the shoes should be organized in the downstairs closet or who is a better parallel parker (me).

That Sunday we were both tired, not yet ready to admit it, but no longer actively looking for reasons to be pissed off.  It seemed a fine idea to ride the ferry into the city.

The day was clear and cold but we had dressed warmly. We stood outside on the top deck and the wind whipped my hair into my lipgloss and then tossed the little sticky points back against my cheeks.  A mother opened her backpack and doled out snacks to her two children, a tween-ish boy and girl, who systematically refused the sliced apples, granola bars, carrot sticks and string cheese.  The mother tugged on the father's jacket sleeve.  He looked down at his sleeve until she opened her hand.  The father went inside and the kids followed.  They all returned with bags of Cheetos and cans of Coke.  The mother opened a package of string cheese, ripped it lengthwise and threw it overboard in small pieces until we arrived.

The ferry building was a frenetic rush of Sunday traffic, something that neither of us had taken into account when making our plan.  Both haters of crowds, this became a point of bonding.  We moved along like cattle, glancing at all the stands wholly devoted to one amazing kind of food: cheese, mushrooms, pork, vegan donuts.  We took refuge in the least crowded place in the building - the bookstore - where D bought me a copy of the biography of Rin Tin Tin, accidentally calling it an autobiography, which gave us our first shared laugh in over a week.

Laughing led to hand holding, which lead to a boozy lunch of blistered shishito peppers, organic duck confit salad and shellfish cioppino at MarketBar where we found a sunny spot on the patio and ate and drank until the sun fell behind the clouds and our fingers began to tingle with the cold.  We talked about safe things at first, which consisted of anything about the dog, until we felt more sure of each other.  Then we began to remember aloud some of the best decisions we had made together and got excited about our upcoming trip overseas and did not spoil the moment with half-hearted apologies for being an asshole without really being able to explain why.

When we got back to the ferry D realized he had lost his return ticket.  He began to berate himself, likely in anticipation of me berating him. In that moment the whole day felt fragile, like we could end up remembering it a completely different way, the blistered shishito peppers and Rin Tin Tin eclipsed by the lost ticket and its aftermath.  I jogged to the machine and purchased another one, quickly pulled him down the gangplank and presented it with mine to the ticket taker.

Once on board he continued to ruminate about where the ticket might have been lost but the game was on and we found a spot inside with a perfect view of the screen.  The 49ers were ahead and our good mood soon returned.

In the seats just in front of us, a threesome sat.  A man, a woman and a boy of about thirteen.  The man was tall and husky wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt under a leather vest with worn Levis.  He had on thick-soled workbooks and a knit cap pulled low over his brow.  The stubble of his beard ran across his cheeks and down his neck unevenly. The woman, by contrast, was festively dressed in a sparkly tight pink sweater, black miniskirt and patterned tights that disappeared into black booties with stiletto heels and shiny gold zippers at odd angles that did not look to have a functional purpose.  She kept absently petting her long, dark hair the way that women who have committed substantial time straightening it into submission often do.  The boy was slight, dressed as a mini version of his father, which only made him seem more vulnerable.  I imagined that his voice had not yet reached the cracking stage but soon would.

The woman snapped a constant stream of photos of both of them with her iPhone, which they patiently and enthusiastically mugged for again and again, competing for her giggles.  Though they were making somewhat of a scene on a crowded boat, the moment felt private and I ignored a strong urge to look away.

D's attention was fully absorbed by the game though sometimes he and the man would absently trade observations in the manner of hardcore football fans who seem to always know each other's position in the room.

The woman eventually bored of her iPhone photo shoot and the man went to the snack bar to get a beer, squeezing the woman's knee and planting a kiss on her cheek before he rose from his seat and lumbered off.  She and the boy both shook their heads "no" when asked if they wanted anything.

The man was now watching the TV above the snack bar, his back to the woman and the boy, debating the merits of the 49ers offensive strategy with the cashier.

The boy and the woman sat thigh to thigh while she playfully pulled his cap on and off his head.  She grazed the edges of his ear with her long pink nails and I saw him shiver.  She leaned in even closer, whispering in his ear now.  The boy held himself very, very still.  When she was done she pulled back a bit and held his chin in her hand, delicately pressing her lips against his cheek, her eyes closed.  Once, then once more. With her thumb she slowly rubbed the sparkly pink gloss into his skin, then held her phone out in front of them to snap a photo.  The boy leaned his head into her neck and let his hand rest on her leg. She pressed her thighs together and his fingers disappeared.  The man began to make his way back and the boy stood up. When the man sat back down, the woman laughed and grabbed his beer, handing it to the boy.  For a moment the boy lifted it toward his lips.  He and the man held each other's eyes until the woman retrieved the bottle and playfully slapped the boy's wrist.  A shout went up as David Akers kicked a field goal in overtime tie-ing the game 24 all.

D and the man shrugged their shoulders at each other and shook their heads, their collective comments about the game communicated in one look.  I turned my attention to Angel Island and the orange and pink streaked sky that framed its highest peak.  Once I won a race there.  I focused my mind on that. The boat slowed as it began to make its way into Sausalito Harbor.

D stood and helped me to my feet.  Let's forget, he said. Forget the entire previous week.  I nodded in agreement.  But this day, he added, let's remember this.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the three of them rise.  The woman tugged her skirt back down over her thighs and the man gave her bottom a gentle swat.  The boy was out of view and with a sense of relief I noted that I was unable to picture his face.

As we moved into the crowd headed toward the exit, I felt a tug on my elbow.  That's a good book, the boy said, pointing at the copy of Rin Tin Tin I cradled in my arm.  His voice was deeper than I had imagined.  He smiled at me as the light from the window hit his face and danced across the pink sparkles that still dusted his cheek.