Santa Cruz (You're Not That Far)

I took a trip into town to purchase some books at the aptly named extortionate college book shop 'The Literary Guillotine'. It has all the charm of a tiny village bookstore, crammed wall to wall with stories and philosophies. As i was paying for my books, the old man behind the counter made a cutting remark to his assistant. She looked me in the eyes with an amused expression.
'This is why you have to get an education, you see! So you don't end up like me!'
'We did have an education', the old man said. 'We just made some wrong choices.'
'I suppose you're right', she said. 'But i don't regret a single mistake that i made.'
I smiled and paid for my books as i stepped out into the sunshine and passed the homeless musicians dancing carelessly along the street, rejoicing in the beauty of their mistakes. A boy covered Shania Twain's 'Man! I Feel Like a Woman' on his accordion.

On Saturday we took a trip to Natural Bridges beach. I watched a pelican upon the rock formation and spied monarch butterflies within the trees emerging from their chrysalis, just like me. Children cried over sandcastles as i buried my feet in the sand. The sea was freezing but the water smelled like home. I always feel safe when i am next to the ocean, for she signals freedom.

Night fell, wine flowed freely, Karen O screamed from the corner and i began to feel like myself again. At midnight we tumbled clumsily through the forest and up into the meadow where we drank whiskey and looked at the stars. I have never seen so many stars in my life. They are like gaping holes in the sky, windows into alternate universes. I think i may be part of an alternate universe myself.

The next day a bird defecated onto my head and it must have been lucky, for i survived the next two rounds of co-op interviews and finally have a home. I bought a Coachella ticket and won a place on the coveted creative writing course. During my first class we had to talk about the first time we could remember physically being able to write. My favourite recollection came from a boy who declared in a brilliant accent that he 'grew up in New York City' and couldn't ever remember writing because he didn't enjoy school. He went on to say that his earliest memory was passing wet cement as he walked through the city with his father and being encouraged to scrawl his name in it. He said that whenever he goes home, his name is still there in the concrete, all around New York.

 I got a cab home late a few nights ago and the driver told me she thinks there are nymphs which live in the forest, for there is always a free and happy atmosphere surrounding the trees. I think she may be right.

And so once again, i say goodbye, pack up my books and my sequins and begin my descent through the forest. A brave new world of fairy lights and kittens awaits. There is a sparrow painting flowers across my bedroom walls.

'If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.'

 - Lewis Carroll