7 pm. Exactly. He gets into the car just where I had told him. In front of Games in Berkeley.
I make small talk. I ask him how work went. How was the BART ride. Where in San Francisco did he work. Did he like it? Is he thinking of graduate school.
I realize that I should be on Shattuck rather than Oxford. We\’re at the traffic light, making a left turn. I say that I haven\’t experienced the Gourmet Ghetto enough. He nods as to accept this as a reason.
He blinks as he usually did when he\’s nervous. I haven\’t seen him for probably a year. We didn\’t hug hello. I am ok with that.
I see a parking space to the right, but the meter seems to be slightly crooked. Is it a space? I pull into the spot and ask him the same question. Looks like it, he says.
I pop the trunk for him to put his stuff in. My own bags in the car, I cover with a jacket. Out of laziness, I don\’t want to drag my bags into the trunk. Who is going to break into this Toyota Corolla anyway?
We walk to the Latino restaurant. I sigh in surprise when we realize that it has been closed for kitchen renovation. I turn and we go the other way passing Yangzte River. I mention that it was one of those childhood places–reminding me of the old times. We end up in Cha-ya. It reminds me of Dopo. Small interior. Busy. A wait outside with couples holding each other for warmth. The list doesn\’t look promising. We turn and go the other direction.
Chez Panisse. No, busy, but expensive. We finally settle on Saul\’s. I don\’t remember why I never went there in the first place. The atmosphere reminds me of Aladdin\’s. I decided to be a little like Jewish and order the typical sandwich and matzo ball soup.
We are satisfied. Idle chitchat, but there is no moment of awkwardness which impresses me. He gets the check. Says that he is working and that I am in school. I fake a move to my wallet, somewhat relieved that I don\’t have to pay. I pull out a $20. He relents, allows me to pay the tip. $10. He gives me a dollar back. I am slightly offended, but an expensive dinner must come at a price.
I drive him back to Alameda. I say outloud that I used to go to this island a lot, but times had changed. The two \”generations\” of people I knew there now have all but faded away. He tells me to drive to the South Shore mall. Look at the huge Safeway, he exclaims. It does look big, but how fascinating can a grocery store be? The one in Lafayette has a Starbucks too, I say.
I make a right turn at the end of the parking lot back onto Otis. He suddenly signals at the last minute for me to make a right. I drive into the driveway, thinking that he would get out. He doesn\’t yet. He tells me to go around the statue at the end. I pause halfway through the turn, thinking that would be where he gets here. He motions me to continue. I reluctantly continue. Then suddenly, he points to a building to our right. That\’s where I live, he says.
We pause there. I put the car in Park. I say some goodbyes, see you in May, perhaps in June, visit me in Pittsburgh. He does a nervous blinking. An awkward moment. I am not sure if he wants me to go see his place. I say nothing. I don\’t want to extend the evening any further. He pauses as if waiting for something, but I do nothing. He gets out and closes the door. Suddenly he comes back, the door didn\’t seem closed enough and he closes it again.
I watch him unlock the front gate and go inside, making sure he gets in safely. Even though I knew that nothing would happen.
And then I drive home. Singing along with Blur and Scissor Sisters.