See You Again

It was if the whole world had suddenly aligned for me, had filled the void of my uncertainty. 02/21/02. Not quite palindromic but an omen nonetheless. I remember using the word omen in a sentence to James just a few days later in Paris. “Clo, Clo, you can drive us.” James bellowed, whispered, a stifled rage that was subsiding now. Thank God. “Maybe this is a good omen, James. This way you can get your key when we go back for the car.” James had just kicked a tree in frustration for missing a bus and had forgotten his apartment key. Clo just watched and said nothing. I told him on our night of private conversation, “Anger is not a good emotion for men like us right now, James.” Both of us were in that magic period in men’s lives when they choose to live or die. “I want to see you when you are 78.” I had told him my new year’s resolution- to live to be a 100. James couldn’t see past the moment. “It’s all in your lower chakra”, he said to me, then naming my sins. For him letting anger out was his way of dealing with demons. Oh, worry was in there, too, it complimented his anger so well. But for me, I had just seen Beautiful Clouds in Amsterdam and that gave me focus.

“Would you like your portrait drawn?” Wen Wen asked me that day. “How much?” “10 euros.” “OK.” I sat down on a stool in Museumplein and looked across the path with the afternoon sunshine on my face. I smiled and kept sneaking glances at Wen Wen. She talked to me and revealed that today was her birthday. She is 27. “That’s half my age”. Her beauty was captured by her serenity even when she drew. “It’s getting cold now. I think I will go”, she said after I tipped her 10 euros and tucked away the drawing in my knapsack. “Would you join me for soup?” I spoke about my search for meaning in the brown café, “I’m an under-employed computer engineer and an overworked artist”, showing her sketches, 10 in all. “Jet lag, finding energy, and strength” were quick descriptions of the first three, realism all. “From the imagination?” Wen Wen asked, as I flipped through the rest. “Yes, been resting my dogs in the coffeehouses.” I knew James would tramp me through Paris. “You smoke? I tried it once, didn’t work for me.” She spoke English so well but when she spoke Chinese I couldn’t repeat the pronunciation.

“I am my brother’s keeper”, I told James as we walked to the train station. I had to catch the train, Clotilde was driving to work, and James had nowhere to go. “Blue sky is more than beautiful clouds, Cappy”, he retorted. My Christian plea met Pagan ears. As soon as she wrote wenwen in her e-mail address I said it perfectly. She beamed at me and said, “My name means Beautiful Clouds.”