Dear Asian Lady

Dear Asian Lady I See Every Morning:

Elderly, petite, regal Asian grande dame I see in downtown Burbank every morning at about 8:58, why won't you say hello to me? We’ve been passing each other for almost three months now, and frankly, it would seem that it's time to take our relationship to the next level.

Your starched blouse with its elaborate detail at the neck tucked into a pair of elasticize-waisted pants threatening to envelop your modest bosom, your old-lady special glasses, plucked from the revolving rack at Lens Crafters, your thinning bouffant hairdo; these elements individually fail to distinguish themselves, but when combined form a cohesive whole irresistible and beguiling. As you daintily step down the sidewalk, clutching your purse and its thin shoulder strap, I want so desperately to be invited into their sanctum. Where are you going, anyway? Down to San Fernando Boulevard for some breakfast? To the Starbucks, perhaps, for a latte and a piece of low-fat coffee cake? For your sake, I hope so; for your sake, I hope it's something you look forward to.

Would it be so hard for you to acknowledge the friendly greeting I toss your way, day after day, my teeth bared in a clownish leer, my eyebrows arched practically to the crown of my head? I must be disturbing the delicate follicles of my hairline by exerting this much pressure on my forehead, possibly expediting its seemingly rapid receding, so the least you could do would be to return the favor. (Especially since your hair isn’t looking so thick these days either… a little solidarity might be nice). I smile at you again, veering my course ever so subtly closer to your own. It's like I'm not even there.

"Konichiwa, bitch!" I want to scream at you, gasping forth weeks of pent-up, roiling frustration. But I don't. I just pass by, hoping my crazily-arching eyebrows will communicate my message. But evidently to no avail.

-

Weeks pass. WE pass, almost every day. Days that you're not there, I get nervous, lonely; my rhythm is off all morning, I wonder if something has befallen you, or if you're just off somewhere, on some organized cruise for the elderly, standing with your elderly friends, more than likely taking several photographs.

-

Today is the day. I'm ready to take the leap. I see you coming and arch my eyebrows in my usual freakish manner, take a deep breath, and let it out:

"Good MORNING!" I say, in what to me was a little louder that intended, and to you must've sounded like a bellow. Your eyes opened wide and your head jerked up, startling you out of whatever coffee cake-anticipating reverie you clearly were in. Standing right next to you in the middle of Third St. in beautiful downtown Burbank, towering over you; the look of fear in your eyes making me feel a large, Godzilla to your diminutive, terrorized townsperson, when in reality I was just a gawky homo with a man-tote standing in the middle of the street.

But you quickly regained your composure, nodded at me as we passed; the crosswalk's bleeping not only signifying to the legions of non-existent blind Burbankians that they could safely make their way to the police station or the Round Table Pizza beyond, but as the soundtrack our encounter. That little nod was all I needed, that acknowledgment that we both share the same sidewalk, the same earth, roughly four days a week was enough to put an additional spring in my step… and hopefully, as I turn around and watch you gingerly pat the back of your bouffant, yours as well.

The beginning of a beautiful friendship this might not be, but perhaps, for ever so brief a moment today, we achieved something meaningful. Maybe we can do it again tomorrow.

Best regards,
Dear Crabby