Orpheus

“I really really think that this year will be the most FUCKING AMAZING year, EVER!” Cameron so vehemently declared.

Last night, the two of us met up at a quaint little Asian café up in Fremont to catch up and get ourselves excited for Irvine.

It hasn’t really quite hit me that I’m going back to college this Saturday. It’s going to be difficult leaving home. Again.

Cameron invited me to a party at his apartment Saturday night. I understood this perfectly: A Party. Saturday. Cameron’s place.

But I have some kind of mental block that’s not letting me wrap my brain around the fact that all that will be taking place down south.

I question myself. Why do I get attached? And what is it that I get attached to that makes leaving hard? Am I attached to Funksters? I really only had like three or four friends from Funksters, and I had only known them for less than eight weeks. There should no big deal.

Am I attached to San Francisco? Am I attached to that dance studio, with its gray mats, bigass mirrors, loud fan, high ceilings, and the sound of the BART whooshing by?

I had thought this was going to be easier the second time around, but it actually feels harder.

Magnificent view.

Last summer, about two or three days before moving down south, Trung and I headed over to Oakridge late at night and met up with Black John. We decided to head to the top level of the parking garage where we could take in the magnificent breathtaking view of the In-N-Out and Kohl’s across the street. (The garage was three stories, so we didn’t have much of a view.)

This was probably our third or fourth time here on top of the parking garage. We’d always just live dangerously and sit on the edge, our legs dangling over three stories above the ground. We’d chat and reminisce about old times.

John lit a cigarette, and I think the topic of that night was old TV shows, or Super Smash Brothers Brawl. I think I aimlessly ran around in the parking lot too and attempted to bboy.

Me and John.

This was my last night with Oakridge, the mall that I had grown up in all my high school years. It was going to be hard to let go. I didn’t know what it’d be like in SoCal if I wasn’t going to this mall every god damn week.

After an hour, we took the elevator back down to the first floor. As we got out, there were two cops, a female and a male one, there at the elevator door. We thought they were getting on, but they actually detained us. Uh oh.

Apparently, there were cameras on the roof. And we seemed shady.

The female officer took our drivers’ licenses and ran background checks. While waiting for the background checks, the male one searched and questioned us.

Were we terrorists? Nope.
Were we carrying rocket launchers? Nope.
Were we contemplating mass suicide? Nope.
Were we in possession of marijuana? Fortunately, John wasn’t that night.

I feel that if their cameras were any bit decent, they could’ve at least figured that we weren’t carrying rocket launchers.

I don’t remember how long we were there for with the cops. Thirty minutes? It was long enough to get uncomfortable, with all the shoppers walking by and turning their heads to watch the teenage delinquents possibly getting arrested. I seriously thought that they still could’ve nailed us for something, like loitering.

Fortunately, they let us go, but I couldn’t help but feel bitter about the entire incident.

That was when moving on became easier. Four years at Oakridge: I had outgrown this place. It didn’t want me anymore.



(*Trung came up with the title.)