Sunrise, Sunset
I worked a particularly crappy shift in Boulder: Saturday nights, when I just shoveled the next day's paper onto the site. It was tedious; I was bored.
I didn't want to be there, and I took advantage of the lack of supervision on Saturday nights, so I often goofed around and did my own thing, on the Interweb, but I'd also meet friends for a while, or join the copy desk for beers after the paper was put to bed, and then get to work at midnight or 1 a.m.
I would often nod off at my desk, wake up, do some work, nod off again. For several hours this would go on, until the site was up and I was out the door. Very often I would procrastinate so well that I'd see the sun rising on my drive back to Denver.
One Sunday morning, as I passed the Whole Foods on Broadway, I saw some dude in the right lane waving his arms trying to get someone, anyone to stop. He was wearing all black, going-out black, not fuck-capitalism-give-me-a-dollar black. Three or four other people, men and women stood on the sidewalk, also in going-out black outfits. Figured it was safe enough, so I stopped and rolled down the passenger-side window.
Guy gestures to the group and asks, "Can you give my friend a ride home? It's not far, over in" some neighborhood I vaguely knew to, in fact, be not far from the entrance to 36 back to Denver.
Took a few seconds to consider: I was eager to get home to sleep, glad it was late spring so I didn't have to deal with the temptation or pleas to get up on the mountain in a few hours. But it was close enough to spring hitch-a-ride-back-to-the-top-of-pass season that I couldn't, in the interest of good karma, not offer a ride.
So I said, "Hop in." Guy calls over to the group. A woman walks over and gets in my car.
Oh. My. God.
She was fly as hell. Stunning. In that thin, athletic Boulder way. With a short going-out black skirt to there. And going-out black boots all the way to there. I swear the seat was all the way back, her feet were flat on the floor and she still looked cramped in that front seat, knees bumping against her chin those legs were so long. I think I started blushing and giggling, she was so out of this world. Never ever talk to me if I wasn't her only ride home kind of beautiful. Never ever step to her in real life kind of beautiful.
Oh. My. God
She reeked to high heaven. I think the snowboard sticker (blue Peter Line Forum pin-up girl) on the dashboard started to peel from the stench of booze emanating from her pores (or her hotness). I started weaving from the contact drunk.
She gave some directions to her place and kept shyly, slyly smiling at me. I tried to keep my jaw closed. I was thinking, "There is nothing I can do to make this work out in my favor. Nor can I fuck anything up. This is so a dear diary kinda day."
She said, "You're cute."
I know at this point I started blushing and smiling that stupid smile, that smile you get in third grade when the hot student teacher smiles at you nicely, genuinely and compliments something you did, and you don't know what that feeling is in your tummy, but you know it's good and you can't stop smiling.
I still wanted to pretend to be cool, so I looked out the window to my left, maybe muttering a thanks.
Oh. My. God.
The sky. Was on fire. Fire engine red stained glass. Gates of hell open red, but it's really the back door to heaven. You know how sometimes the clouds look really serene and still, like the sky is a painted, color corrected photo studio backdrop? This particular sky has never been painted because the colors don't exist in water colors, tempera, oils or latex. Sailor take warning, all you know is wrong kinda red. Never seen a sky like this before or since. Mindblowing. Forget about the girl sitting shotgun who made you drool like Rush Limbaugh with a prescription pad kinda mindblowing.
If she hadn't told me the turn was coming up I might have forgotten about her completely.
She was the stuff of epic poetry, but the sky was the stuff of religions.
I dropped her off at some house, and watched as she unfolded herself out of the car, a little surprised that I didn't see more given how short that skirt was.
I drove the few feet to the end of the block and took one last look back, but she was gone. A minute later when I got back onto Broadway, I looked east, at the barely blue dawn horizon.
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