17. Mr. Saturday Night
She stepped out of the shower, sun streaming through the windows. The smell of perfume hung heavy in her living room. It was finally spring and the trees outside her window were starting to bloom.
Beads of water ran down her skin as she wrapped the blue turkish bath towel around her. She took a moment to sit in her bay window and look out over the city. The sky was a bright turquoise and the fog was starting to dissipate. It had been almost a year since she had a “spring awaking” of sorts. A scavenger hunt without clues.
She turned as she suddenly heard his voice coming from the TV. The slow southern drawl. She would know it anywhere. She watched him as he was interviewed on the red carpet, always the entertainer. He was wearing a blue suit and his skin more tan than she remembered. He looked like an old fashioned movie star. The last time she saw him was in Nashville. They walked along the uneven streets at dusk as they talked about their lives. Although the light jingle of honky-tonk music and neon lights beckoned them back to the strip, they walked further and further down the road, away from the city. The final rays of light reflected over the Cumberland river and danced on his face. She kissed him sweetly and held his face in her hands.
You’re Mr. Saturday night, you know that right? Everyone who meets you knows that you are magic.
She knew he was weary, but she meant what she said. In airports and restaurants he would pull his hat over his trademark grey hair so that he could avoid long conversations about music and the TV show. She cared about him more than he knew. She thought about running away with him, to live in the music city a life filled with trees and seasons….but it wasn’t time yet. Something was pulling her back to the cool grey city of love….San Francisco.
In the city she had made many new friends who she knew would last a lifetime. She always remembered a first meeting with a good friend. She remembered the littlest things. How they shook her hand, if they looked her in the eye, what they were wearing. She could remember freckled cheeks, dangling earrings, soft leather jackets as she leaned in for the first hug. There always seemed to be a sense of magic when she met someone that would become a lifelong friend. She couldn’t put her finger on it but on a rare occasion when she met someone new the universe seemed to swell for a moment, time would stop and it would just be the two of them taking each other in.
The emptiness that she felt for years was starting to fill up with new experiences. Long runs on new trails, brunches with bottles of champagne, late night talks on the phone, great hugs and long kisses. She had met friends that could tell the future and those who could see the past. Some knew her innermost thoughts without ever exchanging words. There were cheerleaders and coaches and marching band leaders and of course Mr. Saturday Night himself. At night she finally started feeling comfortable, spreading out like a starfish in a bed built for two.
It was Saturday night and she took an Uber downtown. She always had the most engaging 10–15 minute conversations with her Uber drivers.
Where is your mister? A woman like you should have a mister…
He said to her. He handed her a white notecard…thinking that he wanted her to write down her phone number.
I once wanted to meet a woman, so I wrote about her. I even asked that she she speak French…a few months later I met her, she was everything I had dreamed about and more. Write about him on this card, and he will come find you.
Go on, find your mister.