~~~~English Essay~~~~
I actually am proud of this and it really gives an idea of what I enjoy.
:) read and respond!
Milea Trujillo
Backes
AP English
September 5, 2011
Diversity in such a Shared Interest
I have arrived. I expected to be here. But I didn’t expect everything that comes with it. The unexpected is surreal. It’s pure and satisfying beyond belief. It’s like home. It is home to few but can be to anyone. On a passive day, there will be a free parking space on ashen gravel in front of the park, but one must always be careful of the nonsymbiotic chickens roaming freely. Listen for their emphatic cockles. For fear of their life, visitors are asked to watch for them as they park and to not feed them. The Coffee and Deli sells stale, day’s old, brick hard bread pieces specifically for them. Around here there are no real rules. The common, people from the area have their own idea of what’s right and wrong and it’s accepted by all who come together on this evening. Before parking, I contemplate to stop at the baroque boutique. Hmm. Or maybe that charming antique shop. Or the “Blossoming Path” which smelt of energy- incense- and was lit by dim, saffron lights- a customer is getting spiritual guidance. I think I saw a jam-packed candy store too. Mmm. Oh, and it was old-fashioned! But there are so many other sweet stops to browse through, all in leisurely walking distance, all on the same street, by the cute café, the coffee shop, the deli, the “open mic” place.
The ambrosial café is crowded. Everyone glances at me as I enter. Eye contact is made with some and small, somewhat meaningful smiles are exchanged. Ahh, acknowledgement. Soft, acoustic melody fills the aromatic air. The fantastic guitarist is none other than the handsome boy who was practicing under the Maple tree at the peaceful park just an hour ago. The lovely girl he was with is sitting at a Pub table, abandoned by him for the moment. She plays next. Songs of heart ache. I can feel it in my heart, in my soul. I can see it her eyes. She is wearing a short, flowery, nude colored, woven dress and no shoes on her skinny, pale, tattooed feet. Everyone here is so different looking like the clothing selection at a thrift store. All ages, all sexes, and probably all sexuality’s surround me. Some can play and will perform but some, like me, just anticipate the performance. I see the classic Fender guitar, Lanikai ukulele, Remo bongo, Lyons xylophone, and Hohner harmonica. I hear sentimental, abstract poems. Two pieces played per person, but no time limit. Really, there are no limits at all- just some suggestions and preferences. Lyrics, no lyrics, poems, humming, oldies, or new age- whatever you’d like to share- we’d like to be shared with.
There is a beige, tall, slightly full bookshelf. It has a meager, yet visible sign. “Give and Take- Book Exchange- Borrow a Book!” Around the adorable café are a few other tan shelves with trinkets, Corn Flakes boxes, old canisters and things that I’m sure all have some relevant meaning to the owner/ decorator. There is art. It’s all art, in a sense. There is a fantastic German cuckoo clock and eccentric strings of lights. The rough tablecloths are made of hemp and have Flat glass on the top for an easy dining experience. Under the smooth glass, John/Jane Q. Public have squeezed their business cards- offering services like house cleaning, Zillo real estate, demolition, medical marijuana, Passion Parties, hair styling and anything else. Pots of beautiful, large and small flowers are filling the air with ambience in random places. The lengthy menu is on seaweed colored Quartet chalk board with attractive, squiggly writing. Some special parts of the wall have been painted on- uniquely with nice, neutral, perfect colors- of drawings that are all sorts of figments of some body’s imagination. It feels texturized and bumpy- it’s hand painted. There is so much surrounding me but it’s not cluttered. It’s not “short on space”. There is plenty. It’s just well arranged so what meets the eye is gratifying. I feel as if I’ve had my “art fix” of the day. It’s a pleasant, peaceful atmosphere that makes anyone feel like they just met “the one”. It’s the same with the brief reach to the bathroom. I go out the orange backdoor. Then walk alongside a chipped wood, hazel fence which has wind chimes of all sorts strung along it and more paintings- of chickens repeatedly, sort off guiding my path to the restroom. Then, inside the room, the trash can is just a simple bucket and bag. There is only one, unisex bathroom. One simple toilet and sink with all the basics. You don’t need much else do you?
After letting some out, I have room to let some in. Organic Java City coffee, tea, or smoothie? Fresh cookie, croissant, bagel, muffin, sandwich, soup or salad? Sweet or salty? Healthy or fatty? The overwhelming aroma of a perfectly scorched asiago bagel, with perhaps what is red pepper hummus, from the customer in front of me has got my attention and I order “what he’s having”. I sit and enjoy the music again. It’s more “rock n rollish” this time and the crowd is singing along flawlessly and banging on tables captivatingly on beat. My bagel is delivered by the end of the song and toasted with skill. The sweet waitress smiles and gets back to work, bending to get through the mess of chairs and people.
I don’t come here every week because I like the food particularly. It’s not that. It’s not that the people are really nice or super friendly either. They aren’t. They are all in their own little world, but can appreciate the same things as I do. It’s not even music that I like! I do, I do. But there are lots of open mic nights with good music- music that I’d enjoy. It’s how I feel when I’m there with all these simple but possibly very complex people, singing songs that I can and do relate to, in a style that relaxes me. There isn’t an over abundance of people but the place isn’t dead. They have a big menu but not so many choices where I really can’t choose. The music isn’t blasting but it’s loud enough where it’s a little bit hard to talk to your partner. Everything is perfect. It’s quaint. It’s not only special on Thursday’s (open mic night). It’s always special. Must be the décor. Must be the combination if it all. I love this homely, peaceful place of enchantment where everything goes.
