This post consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.
He talked endlessly about meeting us at Pea Soup Andersen’s in Carlsbad for a quick lunch. Except, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Some memory from his childhood about a Danish windmill, two crazy cooks name “Hap” and “Pee”, and the best split pea soup a boy ever ate. We all just let him ramble. And he expected us to meet him there. Since none of us had the courage to ruin his reunion, we just agreed to meet at the windmill and let him find out.
As far as I remember, the place has always been a TGI Fridays. I suppose it could have been a pea soup place once upon a time. I recall it was a bit expensive. Something told me we would be eating somewhere else. So much for memories.
He rushed ahead of us on the 5 and tore off toward the windmill on the frontage road. By the time we caught him, he was driving through the parking lot circling the restaurant. Sure enough, not a sign pointed to a pea soup place although the TGI sign stood out large and center. He climbed out of the car looking lost and dejected. I laughed. Served him right; so sure and smug. I realized I really didn’t like the guy, but my wife thought the world of him. Some sort of strange brother-like quality made him seem less of a threat to women. I knew exactly what he wanted; my wife in bed.
I drove up to his car, yelled “We don’t have time for dinner anyway,” and then left the parking lot back to San Diego. Cindy pouted. I smiled. Who knows what happened to Fred. Maybe he found his mystical pea soup. I didn’t really care.
***
I saw my first black kid in Coalinga. I grew up in the northeast corner of the whitest part of California. American Indian kids stayed in one (more…)
