How Malibu drew me and made me come, this city is special.

What did Malibu do to me that the others didn’t?

Life is special. I am really special. I only genuinely feel like this once, or twice, or three times a year, so I’m going to write about it.
I’m in bed on a Sunday morning, it’s 5AM, and my room is facing very light blue waters and brown sands. The waves are echoing a beautiful harmony this morning, if I come to this world again, I want to be ocean waves. On a second thought, I don’t want to come again.

I roll on to be on my side to face the light properly, it’s breaking in through the glass house. Piercing into my shiny nose. My eyes are photo sensitive, I squint a bit. I see the cold, elderly, French couple are out on the beach so early. My eyes catch the around 5-year-old, Hispanic-Ish boy and his father, laughing in the waters. In my days in this city, they have been some of my favourite things to look at. Why are they up so early? what time did they go to bed? what are their names? are they happy?

I pull off the covers from my body, from my abdomen off, I raise my back to assist me, carefully putting my feet on the wooden floor that this apartment is made of. Clean, brown floors, caramel feet, white nail polish, red would have been better. Sitting up on the bed, both hands beside me resting on the bed edge that I sit on, my eyes catch something else that makes me smile again. It’s a pair of locally made white shoes that the shoemaker had inscribed my name on. I tilt my head to look properly, it’s the left shoe, “Mo” is inscribed in a tiny inner corner around the back. I remember the events around this shoe, and the 6 weeks I had spent with some great girls, who showed me a lot of fondness and kindness. And although I’m not in their heads, I can guess how they remember me, probably as the really sweet girl, Mo. The smile swiftly fades as I remember that I may never see many of these girls again. Life is indeed special. I can’t explain it.

My nose catches a whiff, “Urgh the sweet smell of coffee…” I let out in a bright moan. I instantly remember that I should have company. I hastily run my fingers through my hair, took the band on my left wrist and put my hair in a ponytail. I put my feet in my white fluffy hotel slippers and got on my feet. I looked back down at where I sat on and stretch my hands to grab the tiny towel by the bed and just wiped it with. I pulled down the white tee I’m wearing to almost reach my knee, but it wouldn’t stay there, I don’t know what’s wrong with this tee.

Walking out the door and into the narrow corridor that leads to the kitchenette. I have always thought that this place smelt like rainy season and an oven bakery, but just always dismissed it as maybe the charm of the place, but this morning, I smell coffee.

I look into the kitchen, starring at the behind of the human making it, and roll my eyes. I quietly lean on the door crossing my legs to the side to study the situation. He’s humming and nodding, listening to no music in sight, why is he so happy? I brace myself up and say a “Hi”, he turns to look quickly at me and with the biggest smile. “I was giving you more time to admire the man”. I roll my eyes again, drag myself to the dining table in there and the blackest coffee is passed to me. I sigh and move it to the side. “I think after the coffee you can leave to start your day” I said.

I’m met with a loud chuckle, “is that the politest you can do?”

“Well, I can think of another way” I wittingly replied.

He walked past me to the living area where his things laid and started to pick them.

“You are sure you don’t want to stay for a few more days?” He looked up at me as he puts on his glasses.

“No, I have to be with my friend by tomorrow” I replied.

How did I let a tour guide in my suite?

I take my first coffee sip and look at fully dressed Lance, that I may never see again.
“Thank you, Lance.” I said, while making eye contact from across the room.
he looks at me with a smile and passes me a note, he smacked me on the cheek, took a bow and walked off. I may never really see Lance again, we had a no phone number, no real names, details agreement. No way to really reach each other, of course my idea. So, I’ll keep this paper.

It’s now 12pm, I’m in the back seat of an airport transfer car, taking me to catch my flight. I look at the city again. I have tried to memorize the name of a tea shop, and a bar, and an elderly home on my route. It’s a habit I’ve formed from going to new cities, it makes me feel like in ten years I can remember the place if I go again, and a part of the place is always with me, in case I never make it back there again.

I look at my waist strap bag and unzip the tiny part where I kept Lance’s paper. His name is not Lance of course, but it read… “I just want to thank you with all of my heart… I hope you come back, the sky is more blue in Malibu.