A Long Embrace

The car, a beige SUV, was pulled off the road, no real shoulder to speak of, pressing against the edge of the highway, traffic whizzing past.  Hazard lights running.  The couple simultaneously emerged, stumbling out of opposite sides of the car.  The driver was a man about sixty, a trimmed, mostly-white beard, a large, doughy body.  Khaki shorts and a light brown polo shirt.

The woman, who was hurrying to the back of the car, had medium-length brown hair, large, round, owlish glasses.  She looked like a librarian.

They fell into each others' arms behind the car, the yellow-orange hazard lights on either side of them continuing their rhythmic blinking, an announcement of some possible danger, some unspeakable loss, as the man and woman held each other, clutched at each other.  It was a long embrace.  Who could say why they were there?  Sometimes love can feel like an emergency.


Arts Alive will be on a short hiatus for a few weeks, as I attend the Tin House writing workshop in Portland, Oregon and then the Lambda Literary Retreat, in Los Angeles.  If I had more time at my leisure, I would be writing about the interesting-sounding exhibit involving salt at the Monterey Museum of Art, or one of the many compelling shows or programs at the Carl Cherry Center, or a local theatre production.  The Carmel Bach Festival is also soon upon us.  I will miss all or nearly all of it, but will be back later this summer with various and sundry artistic tales to share.