#53, Prima C.

Prima was a ballerina. And no, i'm not writing a rock song here, people- it's the honest-to-goodness truth. She came to work at the flower shop a few months before i left, all coltish and pretty, brimming with energy and smiles. She was 16 going on 17, carried herself quite precociously but with a twinge of self-doubt that broke that whole wall down. She wore lipstick, and her brown hair was always back in a bun. She had a very grand, idealistic way of speaking, and i would definitely say Prima was starry-eyed, but i loved that about her. It was very endearing to someone as jaded as i was. Turns out her house had been lost in the Oakland Hills Fire in 1991, when she was just a few years old (i was eleven when it happened, and it shaped me forever). My bf and i went to see her dance in a ballet performance once, and she was so amazed that i showed up. It was adorable, and she was fantastic. Truly has a career ahead of her; if not in ballet, then in any damn thing she chooses. She's that girl. Go Prima!

#52, Dry Garden Guy.

There was a nursery near my apartment on Alcatraz Avenue, called The Dry Garden. It dealt primarily (perhaps exclusively?) in succulents, and drought-tolerant plants. It was a beautiful, beautiful place, with rusted metal sculptures everywhere, a resident cat, tall bamboo hiding the fence, and a little greenhouse filled with air plants, lithops, and the like. But the best part? The guy who worked there. Skinny, late forties-early fifties, grey hair and matching moustache. Button-up shirt and light bluejeans. Blue eyes and a salty attitude. It was always just him, and his surly, twenty-something helper boy. I think he probably owned the place, and was there every day. i loved that about him. Once, on a Sunday morning, Nat and i had just eaten breakfast at the Thai Temple, and on our way back home we decided to stop in and wander around. He saw us coming in, and said, "you guys look fabulous!* Did you just come from church? ::wry sarcastic grin::" We all had a good laugh at that, and left him to his work while we checked out the array of low-growing, creeping grasses.
He basically always told us that we looked great, and was nothing but adorable. I loved his sarcastic attitude and the way he would roll his eyes. I miss that place so much it hurts sometimes.
*swishy wrist motion.

#51, "Berkeley Dave".

So, i never knew this guy's name. But i would always see him walking down the street in Berkeley, with his particular way of walking: shoulders back, head held level (but not high!), arms swinging and legs flying. The outfit? Converse All-Stars, blue jeans, and a black bomber jacket (the kind with the shiny orange lining). He had incredibly long, straight, perfect blonde hair. Parted in the middle, cut to a perfect straight line at the bottom, near his butt. Always had a hint of a smile on his face, but we could never figure him out! As someone who practically wears the same thing every day, i was so incredibly intrigued by this person who literally did wear just the one outfit. Years later, driving with my sister, i pointed him out. "Oh, that's Berkeley Dave!" she said, just like that. As if i should have known. Well, i'm glad i do. He is such a staple of those days for me, and it always brings a smile to my face just picturing him. Hope you're still rocking the same outfit, Dave! Don't ever change.

#50, Joey S.

Joey was a skinny guy with a smile always at the ready. He wore lots of denim, and was frequently drinking a bottle of beer. He was one of my sister's older, cool friends. When he found out that i had a typewriter, he was very intrigued. Seems he'd been writing a book, which i don't want to give out the real title of, just in case. But let's just say that it had something to do with termites, and i mean as main characters. He gave me his fat binder filled with pages, and i was to type it up in my spare time. i was a fast typer, even though i didn't (and still don't!) know the home keys, or how to type properly. The awful part is, i got through a good two-thirds of it, then things kind of fizzled between my sister and all of those guys, and i never saw him again, not even to return his binder. He had assured me that he had more copies, but i've felt guilty about it to this day. Eventually i came to terms with my own feelings about my conduct, and when i moved out of my third-to-last apartment, i ripped out all the pages and put them in the recycling bin, leaving the binder out on the sidewalk for giveaway. Wow, i'm an asshole. I'm really sorry, Joey. Hope that all worked out for you.

#49, Kaarin.

Kaarin worked at a flower shop with my sister when i was in high school. She had really bad skin and kind of a strange, potato-ey face. She was very slight, and wore lots of black clothing. Long, dyed red hair, and a smoker's voice and laugh. She lived in a warehouse (the epitome of cool, back in those days) in Oakland, and once i went over to her house to take artistic pictures of her, which involved her lying sprawled out on the floor, with white fairy lights strung all around her, and fresh rose petals as far as the eye could see. I believe this was right after Valentine's Day, when there were lots of extra, open red roses to take home (ah, consumerism!). Turned out the roof was leaking, though, and it was raining, so the possibility of electrocution came into play and we had to cut the session short. I can remember those pictures plain as day, even though i gave them all to her. She eventually married someone much older than her, and i hope they're happy somewhere.

#48, Nicholas, the "German".

i met Nick on a train to Jack London Square, Oakland, CA. i was riding up from San Diego to help my sister move. It was toward the end of the trip, around Stockton, i think, when he broke off from his group of friends and walked down the aisle to my seat, eyes red and glassy, all smiles. Grey hooded sweatshirt and big jeans, short short blonde hair and blue eyes. He seemed harmless, so i wasn't too worried. He asked if he could talk to me, and i said of course! He sat next to me and asked what i was listening to (had the iPod on). Can't remember what i was, but soon he asked what kind of music do you like?, a question i dread. i like a lot of it! i offered up the iPod so he could see for himself. He got to Death in June, which is way more Nat's music than mine anyway, and just about lost it. Oh my god- i love this band, he said. Go ahead and listen, i told him. He played the song "Fall Apart", and sang along (loudly) with it. He had the volume up almost all the way, so i kept reaching over to turn it down. He was pretty happily drunk, and kept being amazed that we met, and was sad that i had a boyfriend, but ecstatic that i had this song for him to listen to, a song from a happy time way in his past. Apparently he was from Germany, moved to California (Stockton) at 16, then got put in jail for 6 years for something which he shouldn't have been, which is where he received his nickname, "German" (this was how he introduced himself to me, by the way. i had to coax "Nicholas" out of him). He was currently homeless. We all got off at the last stop, and i gave him my email address and phone number because i felt like he needed someone to take care of him, or at least to keep tabs on him. He said he really wanted to be my friend, and i certainly hoped he would contact me again.
But he hasn't yet.
I truly hope he does.

#47, Noah S.

Noah was a lot older than us in high school. Like twenty years older. Always in grubby jeans and a bomber jacket, with bad teeth and hair in a ponytail. He was cool, and casual, but also quite mischievous- one morning after my mom had left for work and all of us kids were off at school, my best friend and i made our way back to my house, where we met up with Noah, who brought 40s of Olde English (classy, right? Believe me when i say that we were not discerning, yet). We drank them right there, in the living room, until one of us (probably me) dropped theirs on the floor, where it landed straight up, leading to a momentary sigh of surprised relief. Anyone who has ever dropped a carbonated drink knows what happened next. All of the agitation that had occurred inside the bottle caused the beer to come spewing out in great freshets onto the rug. I freaked out and ran for some towels; Noah just laughed and laughed. Later, on the back porch, he told me that he would never quit smoking cigarettes, because his mother had taught him "never to be a quitter". I thought he was so clever! A few years later, when we had all cleaned up somewhat, i heard he'd had a baby. It was born with jaundice, the first time i had ever heard of that particular yellowing affliction. Hope things are alright, Noah.