Literature In Los Angeles


In LITERARY FICTION on September 6, 2011 at 3:59 pm

Los Angeles, 17th March 2006

Say anything, John.
I know, I know, this is probably the millionth time someone plays this old joke on you but, after what you just did tonight….

You walked out from that Italian restaurant and I came to say something to you.
Your body was still but the rejection in your eyes was speeding at a thousand miles.
Also later, when that black kid approached you at the valet and you aimed your fingers shaped like a gun against his head, I knew your animosity was toward me and not him.
“You should feel lucky it’s him and not you,” I heard on that sidewalk I was watching you from.

But no, no, I couldn’t feel lucky at all.
Especially when you went to say something to her.
It doesn’t matter what you said. It was all about your expression: gentle, sweet, dreamy.
Oh my, you wouldn’t be able to make it again, not even in the most comic of your romances… oops, I meant in the most romantic of your comedies.
By the way, did you drink a glass (too many) in that restaurant?

Your face – it was all for her.
For her, the fucking hostess of that fucking Italian restaurant.
Why? Why her? If she doesn’t even care about you.
Why? If she will say yes to you not because of who you are but because of who she is. And, she’s like, “…oh yes! tonight this guy they all say is kinda famous but I had no idea of who the fuck he is came in and stared at me for his whole dinner and oh no! he’s not cute or anything but who cares? he followed me to my car and oh no! the bullshits he shot were not funny at all but oh yes! he must be kinda celebrity and whatelse does fucking matter so why not?! I’ll let him take me out for dinner and then for a drink and then we’ll see… am I right or what?!”

So why, John?
Why didn’t you come to say anything to me?
Why? If I see your beauty.
Why? If I see your love.

But, don’t think I’m jealous, now. Just don’t.
After all, that was just a dream.
Thank God, it was only a nightmare.

I’m trying to fall back asleep now.
You know, it’s not easy in this parking lot, with all these noises and fears.
But I have to rest as much as I can.

By the way, tomorrow I might go look for some angel’s light.
When we finally meet, I’ll have to teach you how to use it. So, any time you’re upset for a serious reason — maybe you don’t get a part in a romantic comedy, or you’re stuck in traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway, or your friends book a dinner at a restaurant you don’t like, or your Mexican housekeeper forgets to empty the ashtray on the balcony table — you can let your angel fly you far away from such an emotionally distressing situation. Hopefully, you won’t get too addicted.

Come back from that movie soon, John.
The City of Angels has no sky, if you are not here.
It has no meaning.
It’s empty.

The palms fall down and crash on the deserted boulevards.
The haunting sound of these lonely nights spreads all over the days’ blinding light.

An illusion has to take the place of this crumbling reality.
Illusions are reality.
Illusions are what we live.

You have good dreams John, wherever you are, whatever your bed is like and whoever is watching your beautiful eyes smiling now.
Just be safe in this strange night.


Story by Liliana Isella.

Photo by Jessica Gary.

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