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September, October

A fragment, in a series of fragments, that I hope to paste together into something greater than the sum of its parts.

1. Grass Valley

A little over half a year ago, Anne and I took a day trip up to Lake Tahoe in the Sierra Nevadas. It was one of the things we did on her short holiday back in California.

With Anne in Beijing, time was even more elusive. Each moment, each event, was experienced with the awareness of its ending, that within a few days, a few hours, we'd be deprived again.

This turned our time together into both ecstasy and agony. We were careful to not look at calendars. The trip to Tahoe was more or less the same. Spending time at home, being idle, made us feel guilty. Easy going idleness was a thing that only normal relationships could have.

Doris, the neighbor next door, was out on her porch when Anne and I came out of the house; it was afternoon already. Doris was six months pregnant but it seemed that she had always been pregnant and how she use to be, when they first moved in, I had forgotten. The dark blue fabric of her dress was stretched taut against her stomach. Her face looked both exasperated and relieved.

The last time I saw her was in maybe June or July, now it was October. I had become a recluse during the high point of the semester and since Anne had left, I rarely found a reason to go over to their home. I admired her and Ray; they lived a much different life than we did.

"Oh my. I haven't seen you guys in ages," Doris said when she was us coming down the sidewalk. She got up from the white wicker chair and waved at us from over the porch fence.

"I know, it's good being back," Anne said.

We walked up to the gate and let ourselves onto their property. Doris hugged us when we got up the porch steps. "How you've been? How's Beijing?"

"It's been good," Anne said. "But it makes me miss California too."

"Of course. Ray wants to go too but it's not going to be anytime soon though."

"How's everything been for you and Ray?" I said.

"It's been great. Actually, we were just talking about you the other day."

"Oh?"

"He was just saying he missed seeing you guys around. I've been somewhat moody and work's been crazy for him, but you can't blame me for it."

Anne put her hand on Doris' stomach. She extended it out to towards her touch. "It's going to be a boy," Doris said.

I smiled and watched the process between women who expected children and those who did not. I admired Ray and Doris, but the idea of a kid was alien to me. Maybe it was a mix of cynicism, the world is a shitty place to be brought into, or envy that made me ambivalent. As it stood, I was barely about to get by on rent and gas and knew it would be years before I could afford the kind of life needed for a kid and the fact that Anne could not commit on the future. And how could she; I don't blame her. She wanted her freedom and I didn't want to be her tether. I didn't want to push her away. It was all about timing and though we were getting older, we were still too early.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" I asked.

"No yet. It's too early. Ray and I've decided to wait until the day it happens."

"It's better that way," Anne said. She smoothed her hair so that it looped behind her right ear. An ambulance with its siren wailing streaked down V street at the end of the block. All three of us turned to look at it.

"Do you guys have any plans today?" Doris said. "Ray's coming back from work in a few minutes. Maybe we can have lunch together. I'll call him."

"We'd love to, but we're planning to spend the night in Grass Valley and then head to Tahoe tomorrow," I said.

"That's too bad."

"Let's have dinner when we get back though either tomorrow or the day after," Anne said. "I'm not flying out until Sunday."

"Sure!" Doris smiled. She sat back down into the wicker chair and locked her hands over her stomach. "It's getting cold lately if you're going up to Tahoe."

"I hope it is," I said.

Compared to a week ago, the sky was overcast and the temperatures had dropped. The wind gathered stray leaves into swirls that made their way down the street before collecting in the gutters. Late September and early October was the time that summer rescinded and autumn began. Autumn was always the shortest season in Sacramento. We barely noticed it except for the two weeks or so that the leaves had turned color and gone.

"We want to see the snow," I said.

"I wonder if there is though. It's not even November yet," Doris said.

"I guess we'll just find out."

My dad use to drive us all to Tahoe when we were kids. We went there almost every year. Some years it was for casinos. Other years it was for sledding. No matter what, we never went until after Thanksgiving when snow was guaranteed. Though it was only October, I hoped the Sierras would be the same as they were back then. Anne had yet to see the Sierras during this time of year and I wanted to show her.

We didn't get to Grass Valley until late. The heavy rain made the drive up the mountain slow. The one lane roads and twisting roads only added to the time. Ed was already outside when we pulled up outside the two story Victoria home. He was taking out the trash when I got out of the car and confirmed that the address was the indeed the right one. Earlier, we had called in and told them we'd be late because of the weather. He shook my hand when he saw me come near, "No problem at all. Things happen," he said.

Ed and his wife Jane were an older couple. I found them through their online listing on Airbnb where they rented out their basement to travelers coming through the area or people who wanted to get away from the city. We were both of these.

"Let me show you the room first," he said, "so that you guys can set your things down."

He led Anne and I through the garage. Anne kept quiet. Though she was talkative, when it came to strangers she was much more reserved. In these situations, I did most of the talking. Her timidness was both surprising and comforting. I wanted to believe that it came from her trust in me and my competence in these kinds of situations. She was always sleepy.

Ed's basement was not a normal basement. He had converted the space into a studio complete with a large L shaped drafting table in the center of the room, reams of paper of various thickness and quality stacked and organized in drawers on the wall, paint, binding blocks, and empty frames scattered along the opposite end. "I hope you don't mind the mess in here," he said. "It was one of the things I should have mentioned on the web page."

"No worries. I like it. John and I are actually very into things like this," Anne said.

"Oh are you? That's great then," he said.

The room was at the far end of the studio. Thinking about it now, basement seemed like the wrong word for the space. Besides the studio area, there was a separate guest bedroom, which was where Anne and I were staying, and a bathroom, with tiled floors and an oak bench inside. Anne and I looked at each other. We were impressed. We could have lived here.

"I just want to let you guys know that Jane and I are having a show tomorrow night here at the house and it get a bit busy and noisier than usual, I'm sorry in advance," he said.

"No, it's no problem at all. We'd probably enjoy it if we're around," I said.

"Well I'm glad too then. Let's go upstairs and I'll show you around so you're familiar with the rest of the place," he said.

The rest of the house was cozy. It had a narrow staircase, wooden floorboards, and rooms that were well partitioned. Jane, Ed's wife, was in their office, the secondary living room, playing guitar when we walked in. While Ed was tall and wiry, had vibrantly white hair, like marathon runner in his '50s, Jane was soft and bookish. She wore her glasses down at the edge of her nose without bothering to push them up. We introduced ourselves and had some small-talk about Sacramento and our plans for the two days that we planned to stay there.

The house and its interior had a nice atmosphere. Ed and Jane were nice. He worked in Sacramento as a developer a few days a week; Jane freelanced as a designer and decorator Placer County and the surrounding areas. When we were on our own I told Anne that I envied them. Owning a house like theirs, doing what they wanted to, and living away from the city but close enough—these were the things that I hoped we'd eventually have. They represented the kind of stability and self-sufficiency that I wanted.

There was a time when I thought their kind of life was boring, dull, and for the old. I wanted a life of capriciousness, constant and unpredictable moves, and mobility—that romanticized and glamorized New York and Stockholm existence. But I realized how tiring that could become and how the life that Ed and Jane built for themselves was also an achievement in its own right. Building something always took hard work. The friends I had who belittled people like Ed and Jane as simpletons, even cowards, were the real cowards. Maybe my youth had passed without giving me the chance that I would miss it or fear that it was gone.

"I wouldn't mind living this kind of life with you," I said to Anne on our drive to Safeway for a bottle of wine. She looked out the window in silence until she answered. "I don't mind either. It's nice."

Walking through the aisles of the empty grocery store—it was still raining heavily outside—I only hoped that I would not have to be as old as Ed was by the time I made it. What their way of life gave was more time together.

We took a bath and then went to bed.

The rain became a drizzle the next day. When we left Grass Valley it was almost two in the afternoon and the sun was out. We spent some time in the city, browsing through the western antique shops, second hand stores, and record shops. At first, I had planned to go to the south east end of the lake, where my dad always took us, on the Nevada side, but I had underestimated the distance. According to the GPS, we wouldn't arrive until in South Lake Tahoe until late and without snow chains we ran the risk of getting stranded on the highway.

We would go to Tahoe City instead. And besides, I had never been there either. We were both travelers.

Anne stared out the window at the densely packed pine trees and conifers that blanketed the side of the single lane highway. I wondered if she had ever seen them at all. It was her first time in the Sierras. Sometimes I forgot that she was never a native Californian, a thing that I always took for granted.

"Put your jacket on," I said. "I'm going to turn the windows down."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

The wind rushed into the car.

"It's lovely isn't it."

It was the smell of rain the day after, pine trees, and cold wind.

"I miss this already," she said.

We stopped at a vista point on the California side of the range. It was one of the lower peaks. A hail storm had broken out and not wanting to be on the road, I parked at the next exist. The pieces pinged off the front hood and top of the car. It was the second hail storm that day and the skies were getting darker the further we climbed. Anne asked if it would snow.

"It's certain," I said.

When it stopped hailing, we zipped out jackets up to our chins and go out of the car. The entire valley was covered in mist and in the distance, clouds churned towards us.

"It's Thursday already," I said.

"I know," Anne said. "It's beautiful. Doesn't it remind you of the Black Forest?"

"In some ways."

"I always wanted to go but I never got the chance to."

"But it's different than Germany."

"Because of the longitudes and latitudes right?"

"No. I guess it's just California."

"I want to know," she said.

During a brief break in the clouds, a ray of sunlight came down over a spot in the valley. I pointed it out and beyond that, a white mountain cap. "It's going to be like that when we get higher up," I said. "You'll see."

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