I had thought forever
about what I might do when Yoshiki
walked into my bookstore
I'd imagined every possible scenario
, I thought. Would I cry
? Shit my pants
? Start sweating? Scream
? Yoshiki, after all, is essentially my reason for writing - my muse
, inhabitor of my dreamscape
to my stories. He stands in the background against the skyscraper
s, blowing smoke from a cigarette
. He's the one I look for at Starbucks
, the figure I see when I picture beauty
Finally, I figured something out. I'd ask him out for coffee
, which is a wonderfully innocent beginning. I hate coffee, but I started drinking it just for this reason. You're allowed to laugh.
I work in Encino
, which is where he lives. I always knew.
But I didn't. Not really.
Today he walked up to the counter and I said hi without even thinking before looking up and realizing that in front of me was the person who had shaped my soul and given me so much hope and I almost shook as I rang up his books while my brain said do it do it do it ASK HIM OUT FOR COFFEE DO IT.
So I did, and we had a little conversation, in which he seemed sheepish
at being recognized and sweetly willing to listen to everything. He asked what days and hours I worked so he could come in and see me again and we could maybe skip next door for a drink and a smoke on the stone patio.
I had to curb my brain, which was saying things like A blind man could see how much I love you.
But I settled for 'Sign here, please,' and a number of smiles.