Bridget's Alley

I pulled out of my parking space and another car instantly took my place. The rain came down, the traffic locked up and I was stuck there on that tight street watching the world go by, umbrellas everywhere and nobody looking very happy. I put the radio on and listened to Fatty Walrus singing a lush version of Georgia. The heat was on in the car and I nodded off for a second. I opened the window a crack and turned off the heat. This was ridiculous.

Looking two stuck cars ahead of me I saw the entrance to Seaman's Alley. Technically, it was a dead end but there was a service entrance to the Orbital Hotel at the back and from there I could get out onto the Drive. When the traffic pulled up to the light I headed into the alley and sped down to the open area at the back. The service entrance on the other end was blocked by a big truck. I was stuck. I pulled in and parked next to three other cars, under the long wooden stairs that goes up to the house where Bridget Beaver has her studio.

I'd never been here on my own but I've visited Bridget with Professor Hat several times. I could go up the steps right now and knock on the door at the top and she'd let me in and I could hang out there until the traffic cleared. Or I could sit here in my car and turn the heat and the radio on and go to sleep. But then maybe Bridget Beaver might come down the steps and see that I was parked in front of her house and wasn't bothering to visit her. She might be offended or hurt. Right this minute I was visible from her windows.

How many times in my life have I found myself in this odd situation? Too many.

Bridget Beaver is a nice enough lady and I admire her work as the chief researcher of the Saverscreen Ghosties phenomenon. That song I was just listening to, Georgia, would not have been on the radio if it wasn't for Bridget's work collecting these strange alien communications and making them seem acceptable to singers and song publishers. But she is an odd combination of intense and scatty and I've never been completely comfortable with her. Also, she always has hangers-on who seem to me to deserve the name the world has given them, Saverscreen Crazies.

The trouble is, I already know what will happen. If I walk up those steps I will establish an independent relationship with Bridget Beaver and begin to accept her and her friends into my life in a new way. If I drop in on her now she will feel licensed to drop in on me. Intimacy is what will happen, unplanned intimacy.

But how can we plan everything? Sometimes folks just get dealt to you like a hand of cards and you just have to do your best with them. The rain was letting up. Maybe I should turn the car around and go back out the alley. Or maybe I should get out of the car and walk up the steps.

I got out of the car.