CARLY, WILL YOU BE MY WALKING PARTNER?
Carly, Will You Be My Walking Partner?
Golden sunshine poured in through my car window, warming my hand as I drove from Santa Monica Beach—via Topanga Canyon— back into the Valley. Leaving the ocean behind, ten degrees hotter and back to “reality” things became real; The gas gauge—No! I was running on empty! I shifted to neutral and coasted through the rest of the canyon. It was all downhill from there. I pleaded to the omnipotent mountain gods, that if I made it to the Valley, I’d never again spend my gas money on trinkets at Venice.
I made it! Now I just had to get to Victory Boulevard and the recycling center, cash in my bottles and cans, saved for such an emergency.
The green and white sign appeared—Recycling Center! I grabbed my bag of recyclables and scurried to get in line. It was 3:30pm. They close at 4:00pm.
There was a gentleman in front of me with two bags bursting with aluminum cans and plastic bottles. I had less than thirty minutes before they closed, and he was feeding his cans and bottles one at a time onto the conveyor belt. Now I’d never make it! I approached him—a middle aged man dressed similar to Gilligan; a canvass hat, striped navy shirt, and a big smile; which I found adorable. I asked him if he thought we’d have enough time to cash in. He turned and looked at me and my small bag. I told him how I relied on gravity and the good graces of the mountain gods to get me back to the valley.
“I really need to cash in” I told him gently. “I’m out of gas and out of cash.” He looked at me in the eyes with concern as I braced for his reaction. Instead of acting annoyed at being rushed, he reached in his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed me a large bill. “Looks like you need it more than I do.”
“Oh, no! this is too much!” I protested.
With a Mic Jagger swagger, he replied “No way can I not help a lovely lady in distress—I’m Nick, by the way,” he smiled.
“Carly,” I responded. I walked off and smiled back, as he ambled away.
A few days later, I was browsing through CD Traders in Tarzana, looking for an old Duran-Duran record I’d neglected to take with me when I moved to the Valley years ago. “Carly?” I heard a soft, resonant voice at my side.
“Nick—The recycling man? What a surprise!” He was now wearing a broad-rimmed straw hat, with a backpack and hiking boots. How rustic. But instead of browsing for a CD, he was reading a book of poetry by John Keats. How romantic; but how weird!
“Carly—I’m looking for an old Joni Mitchell CD— Blue. He said, putting his paper-back verses into his back pocket.
“I’ll help you look,” I responded, unexpectedly charmed by my eclectic, peculiar acquaintance.
In just a few moments we found the CD. Then he told me he’d also love to get an old Broadway musical. “I’m really in the mood to listen to Hair. Those songs still resonate with me.”
Hair? I told him, I love it, let the sunshine in! I sang out, not caring how foolish I appeared; dancing about, waving my hands, filled with the Broadway vibe.
“Tell you what—I’ll buy the CD, then let’s go somewhere to listen to it.” He suggested. I liked the idea.
With a brilliant June sunset as our theatrical backdrop, and Nick at my side, I parked my SUV near Warner Park. I placed Hair in the CD player, and we proceeded to sing each song, from “Age of Aquarius” to “Let The Sunshine In.” And as the sunset and the moon glowed brighter, Nick retrieved a bottle of Sangria from his backpack, and we started the CD over again, as we sang and sipped our wine. We were like two foolish love-struck kids on a romantic escapade. How ridiculous! How magnificent!
With the music as our inspiration, and night as our cover, I said, “I know—let’s strip! It’s what Hair the musical is all about isn’t it? A celebration of freedom, a casting off of false values? We proceeded to shed our clothes, in tribute to the play, and continued to sing and drink our Sangria, as if in a blissful bucolic Eden—not in my SUV.
As the CD ended, and our musical, bare all—tryst ended, Nick asked me to accompany him on a hike in the Topanga Canyon the next day. I eagerly agreed. I’d never felt more comfortable.
We met the next morning, and Nick guided me up to the main trail, overlooking the San Fernando Valley. He asked me if I thought I could make it to Will Rogers Beach. I readily agreed. I felt him a kindred spirit!
Ten miles, and an equal number of blisters later, we reached the wide blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean. And how thoughtful of him to suggest we take the beach bus back to the Valley. Thank you, Sheila Kuehl!
“Carly—Will you be my walking partner?” he asked me as we departed that summer evening. “Yes! I’d like that,” I responded, knowing then we’d be together for a long time. “And there are a lot of Canyons, and trails,” I reminded him.
Fourteen years later, we are still walking partners! (Wink).
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