Orange Is My Lucky Color

I had bought the vintage orange turtleneck over at St. John's Bargain Box some time before. Maybe a month, or a few months, there's no way to remember now. The sweater was one of those thin, ribby ones from the mid-60's, in pristine condition, and I was glad to have it. Things were pretty gloomy then and I needed some color in my life.

This is the prologue. Well, the prologue before the prologue.

...

The first time I came to Victoria, it was unexpected. It hadn't been part of the day's plan. What had happened was, my mother had gone to visit my aunt and uncle near Houston, and I'd ridden along. Mostly because I liked my aunt and uncle, but also because I needed a distraction. A friend of mine had killed himself that week, and everything looked grim. Since three hours in a car with mother is not something to be undertaken lightly, I had the Sunday edition of the Austin American-Statesman on my lap. The front page told the story of my late friend's shattered hopes and broken dreams. That was the ostensible reason I had the paper. The real reason  was because I was searching the job and apartment listings. 

I can't remember exactly when I'd come to the conclusion that my life had veered off the right path, but it was a distinct, uneasy feeling I couldn't shake. Things kept going wrong, badly wrong, and I felt there was a turn in life I should have taken but hadn't. It would have been simpler if I'd known where I should've been instead, but it wasn't clear at all. Hours spent trundling between work and my therapist's office only seemed to kill time. Holing up in my apartment brought no relief. The best solution I could think of was to find my way back to Austin. I wasn't sure if that was the right place to be, but it was better than where I was. I'd received my acceptance letter from the university there, so the day I ended up in Victoria, I'd been in the midst of planning my escape to somewhere altogether different.

The house of my aunt and uncle was a place of happy memories. Once upon a time, I'd romped with my cousins, playing Star Wars and having flashlight battles in the fog. But time moves on, and my cousins had grown up and moved away. We did get to hear a lot about them that visit - auntie not being one to hold back about her kids. Nancy, she said, was going to college in Victoria, and worked at the radio station on weekends. In fact, she called from the station every Sunday evening around 6, if we wanted to wait around to talk to her. 6 o'clock was a little late, considering we had such a long drive back, but auntie said that Nancy would be so disappointed if she'd missed us. Whether that was true or not, mom said we'd wait a short while longer.

Here is a point I don't like to ponder too frequently: had we left before the call came that evening, would the rest of my life have been completely different? Had Nancy not said "There's too much to tell you over the phone, is there any way you can come here?" what would have happened? There are so many ways it could have gone wrong. If my aunt's insistence that it was "just a simple drive" to Victoria had not won out over mom's protests, or if I had not had enough money for bus fare home, if it came to that...what would my future have been instead? 

But we did end up driving to Victoria that evening, through the seemingly endless rice fields, with mom bitching all the way. We drove in from the east side of town, by Rio Grande street. We searched for the address Nancy had given over the phone, which I had written down as North Star instead of N. Star. We took a wrong turn and drove through streets milling with hobos, while mom shouted that she was going to turn around and go straight home. We did find the radio station eventually though, right as dusk was beginning to fall. 

This is the part where I say, I told you all that to tell you this: 

The moment I stepped out onto the cracked pavement, I knew - by some strange miracle - I'd made it back to the path. The disquieting sense of wrongness was gone. In some deep, ineffable way, I knew this. For reasons that were beyond me then, this confusing, creepy, backwater town was the place I was supposed to have been all along. Things had been so hard for such a long time. I breathed a literal sigh of relief.

Nancy popped out of a side door, waving cheerily. She ran to the car and pulled me across the parking lot, yelling over her shoulder for mom not to worry, I'd get home somehow. We rushed into the building, moving fast because she has to get back to the DJ booth before the end of the song. At that point, I already know - in that same ineffable way - that life is different now. The story that came before is over. Everything has changed.

I didn't move to Victoria right away, of course. That first visit I only stayed a few days. We had a lovely time, my cousin and me. A constant stream of friends flowed through her apartment, her phone rang off the hook. We bought cherry vanilla cokes at Sonic and drove for miles. We had ridiculous adventures, like breaking into an abandoned farmhouse and being chased by bees. At night, in the cool dimness of her bedroom, we'd lay out her Russian Gypsy cards and tell each others fortunes. It was just like old times. But I did have some vestiges of a life in my hometown, and I had to get back to it. 

At home, things seemed wronger than ever. My job was becoming a problem. My friends were unsupportive. My apartment was haunted. My granola-and-Dan Fogelberg-loving boyfriend turned out to be a dud, though really that shouldn't have been a surprise. There was a constant drumbeat behind everything that said "this can't work, this doesn't work, this can't work..." Even my therapist thought I should get the hell out of town. I fled back to Victoria often that summer, when I was tired of swimming against the tide. Things were so much easier there. When mom scuttled my Pell Grant for UT because she didn't approve of higher education and my former stalker appeared down the street, it seemed I had many more reasons to go than to stay.

This is the prologue.

...

After the fall semester had started in September, Nancy and her friends had begun a new routine. Once a week after class, they'd all go to her place to study, except it was actually a party. This is what Nancy had told me over the phone. I had missed the first of these events and had gone home again before the second. Consequently, I was in my own bed asleep that Wednesday night - it must have been Wednesday, even though memory insists it was Thursday.-  if the weather data for that year is at all correct, it was in the wee hours of  September 14th, when I awoke to find Nancy standing over my bed. 

It had been a warm summer night when I'd gone to sleep, but an early cold front had blown in, and gusts of wind were howling as Nancy stood over me calling my name. As Nancy lived three hours away and as far as I knew, I'd locked my doors, this was startling. Also, she was dressed like a cheerleader. I screamed. Since (as she explained later) Nancy thought I must be screaming at the apartment ghost which she figured was standing behind her, she also screamed. We screamed until we were brought up short by the sight of her  friend Jason, who wandered into my bedroom wondering what the hell was wrong with us. That's when I realized they had just got bored after the party and had driven up in the middle of the night to bring me back with them.

I changed into some warmer clothes and threw some things into a bag. The orange turtleneck must have been one of them, though I can't recall choosing it now. I zipped the bag, locked the door and ran out into the windy night. That wouldn't be the last time I saw that apartment, but almost. We got into the car - fast, because of the cold - and drove back to Victoria before sunrise.

If that was the 14th, there are three days in this story left to fill. I only remember some things with certainty; how the next day was grey and chilly, and we cut our shopping trip short because of it. That we hung out at the Froth 'n Java drinking cappuccinos. I sat in on a class or two and we borrowed someone's copy of Pulp Fiction. We made repeated trips to Sonic. We must have hung out with friends - they were always around - Jeff, Jason, Ben, Lisa and more than a few Richards. The only one I hadn't met was Nick

Everyone talked about Nick. He was the funniest guy they knew. He was a genius. He was sophisticated. He was older and almost finished with his master's degree. He knew a lot about politics and once tried to replace a newspaper graphic of  Ronald Reagan's brain with a picture of a walnut. I'd almost met him the first night I'd come to Victoria, since he and Nancy usually went for coffee after work on Sundays. He hadn't called that night, though, and since then I always seemed to miss him by moments. He'd begun to seem like a mythical creature to me, often rumored but never seen, so the night of September 17th was a little exciting. I'd woken up from a late nap to find a note from Nancy saying that we were going to meet Nick at Denny's after she got off work. 

It was exciting, but a little worrying, too. I had the impression that Nick didn't suffer fools gladly, and I wasn't convinced that I wasn't a fool. I had a bowl of Campbell's vegetable soup and watched Star Wars while I nervously contemplated my ignorance. I also contemplated my wardrobe. I was again grateful for the orange turtleneck. It was the only item of clothing I owned that might not draw the disdain of some educated  genius smart ass.

...

At Denny's, Nancy and I ordered coffee and french fries while we waited for Nick. He got off work later than Nancy, and it was already after 1 AM when Nancy's eyes brightened and she said, "there he is!" The door hissed behind me and I turned to look, but I only made out a vague shape before I turned back. A terrible heat had suffused my body and I realized I was blushing all over. Oh, the humiliation! Nick had made his way to the table with his cup of coffee by the time I had the nerve to look at him. To my surprise, I saw he was blushing, too. 

He sat down at the table and surveyed his lack of silverware  My future husband spoke to me for the first time, these immortal words:

"can I use your spoon? I don't have syphilis." 

 ....

That was 20 years ago tonight, and since then, no one can tell me there is no such thing as love at first sight, or that Fate doesn't step in to conspire in your favor. We tell our kids not to mock the holy sanctuary of Denny's, for if it weren't for Denny's and Fate, they would not exist. 

But I can't help but think the orange turtleneck had something to do with it. Ever since then, orange has been my lucky color.