last weekend

The girl was young and tiny. Probably the same age as him. She sat at the bar of the Café del Mar eating strawberry ice cream. He was drinking whisky. Outside it was storming.

“Americans are strong with their alcohol,” she said, authoritatively. “Australians too.”

“We’re bigger people. We can fit more inside us.”

“I think I’m strong with my alcohol too.”

“I bet you are.”

“I like beer. I drink every day.”

“Alone?”

“Sometimes. I don’t always get drunk. It’s usually just a drink or two.”

“I like beer too. Tonight I’m drinking whisky.”

“Will you drink beer later?”

“Maybe. Will you?”

“Once I get home. I’ll put on a record and open the windows. I’ll feed my bird and check my messages. That will be a good time for beer.”

“I think it will.”

***
Autumn rain on a Saturday morning put moisture in the cool air. The city is already alive. Cars passing down the streets, the sound of rainwater spinning through tires overrides the revving of engines and the squeal of brakes. It rained all night. The trees lining the boulevard have begun their annual transformation to a colorful death. Bright yellow. Deep red. Bold orange. Fading green. A rainy fog hangs low in the hills. The sky is grey and opaque.

The curtains are drawn, open to the world. But the view is limited. Beyond the hills, all is grey.

There’s a calendar on the wall. The picture on the top panel is of a man hanging a fishing rod over a rail into the sea. The sun is either rising or setting. It’s difficult to tell. It’s is a beautiful photo. The calendar month is August. In reality it is the beginning of November. The beauty of the picture made turning the page to the next month or the one after seem unnecessary.


Then comes the typhoon. The clouds grow dark and the wind picks up. The rain pours and pours. The river rises but doesn't crest its banks. The howling wind gets in to every corner of the world, sending chills down our spines.

We hold on tight for it is all we can do to brace ourselves from the storm. We keep on living, undefeated by the howling beast.

Perhaps a typhoon is like a full moon. Changing people, bringing out their other side. Or maybe it was just good timing that the typhoon came alongside Halloween.

***

Earlier, with Richard at the Café del Mar. We sat, drinking beer and dreaming of the night.

The café is slow. The storm outside is keeping people at home. Only one other table is sat. A young couple, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes.

“The party’s tomorrow. We need costumes, James.”

“I can’t be the same thing as I was last year, though it’s tempting since nobody here would know.”

"What were you?"

"A deviled egg. Cheapest costume ever. Pitchfork and horns. And a white T-shirt with a yellow yolk drawn on it."

"Nice, mate. But what are we going to do for tomorrow?"

"We should dress in drag. I’ve never worn woman’s cloths before."

“You serious? Let’s do it.”

“I think we can pull it off. What size are you?


***
Dressing as a woman give me a new appreciation for the things a real woman has to endure constantly in the name of proper fashion. I’m used to having pockets and wearing pants. Dresses, I’ve realized, are not made with pockets. One must accessorize with a purse. When leave the house I carry with me a small but certain number of things. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Cigarettes. Lighter. If I weren't a smoker, perhaps life as a woman would be easier. But I had quite a hard time trying to cram all my necessities into my small furry handbag.

In Japan dress sizes, I wear a nine. That’s an American size six. Felt pretty good about that one. Six is a good size to be. But I was jealous of Rich’s dress because it was much sexier than mine, and honestly, I have the legs it takes to properly wear a sexy dress. But alas, I showed up to the party in a dress much too conservative for the kind of night I was looking for, and Rich got all the attention.

The hem fell below my knees and there was not much of a neckline. It was a housewife’s dress. Not something a 23-year-old woman would wear, but with the limited selection that fit within my Halloween budget, I made due: I found a cheap pair of black Jackie’O shades, gaudy costume jewelry, a cigarette holder and a hideous handbag that matched the ensemble.

For the shoes, I went with hiking boots. That was the most appropriate choice.