At the restaurant, we split a piece of quiche, a custard and berry crepe, and a Nutella m.u.f.fin. She recognized a girl she'd gone to high school with but couldn't remember her name and didn't want to shout across the room. We walked to a park near the Los Gatos strip. A street preacher was preaching on the sidewalk. Though no one was listening, he sounded sincere, without a hint of Bible-thumping or being overly-judgmental. We found a bench near a fountain and watched the children playing in its water. She'd saved me several pieces of chocolate from a gift box she received at Christmas. She fed me a piece. I kissed her and gave her half. We read two of the "Griffin and Sabine" books. She'd discovered them a few weeks earlier and wanted to show them to me. We people-watched, as always. An older couple across the park was looking at us and we tried to guess what they were saying.

Had I known this would be the last time I saw her, what would I have done differently? Had I known it would be the last time I put my arm around her and kissed her, what might I have said?

Nothing. You can't regret a perfect day.

How could I regret standing in church, meeting Melanie, the smell of alcohol on her breath, listening as she told me how beautiful Jessie was...and tall? Would I dare take back driving into Los Gatos, discussing Ken's sermon, the curse of Eden and how it affects us still today? We knew money was the big issue. I could say it was family, but the two go hand in hand. Stability I couldn't offer. I wouldn't change the conversation, however. We spoke openly and honestly. There were never hidden thoughts.

Would I change anything about the lunch we shared-the most delicious, fruitful crepe and perfectly salted quiche Lorraine? A meal that enjoyable can't be scripted. No, I wouldn't change it. Would I regret the afternoon in the park, holding each other, feeding each other salted caramels, watching and laughing at the small children running through the fountain (His mom can't go in to get him because she's wearing a dress. And look at his saggy diaper!)? These are the moments dreams are made of. They're never looked back on with anything but fondness. Perhaps bittersweet fondness, as something so wonderful couldn't endure. But that's life. When we left the park, the older couple was still watching us, smiling.

"What do you think they're saying?"

"I think they're saying, 'That couple is too much into PDA.' What do you think they're saying?"

"I think they're saying, 'Isn't that romantic? It reminds me of us in our younger days.'"

"They're probably saying, 'They shouldn't kiss in front of children. It's not proper.'"

"But what they're thinking is, 'Seems like a good idea. Let's try it ourselves.'"

"Let's go talk to them."

"No."

"Come on."

"Don't be silly."

Hearts grow heavy when two people, crazy about each other, know it's time to separate. We thought we had more time than we did. We walked the row of shops in downtown Los Gatos, past the cafe where we shared apricot French toast and I recited melancholic prose from my first book. She wanted to visit a nearby gelato shop a block away so we made that our last meal together. Perhaps that's the one thing I'd do differently. If I had known it was going to be our last time eating together, it wouldn't have been gelato. I would have cancelled my flight, taken her to a restaurant in Saratoga, Manresa, that I'd been saving for a special occasion. Had I known.

Approaching the airport, she said, "I always get sad when you leave."

I squeezed her hand.

"When am I going to see you again?"

"Soon," I told her. Valentine's Day was coming up. It brought me joy thinking of spending the day with her. We held each other, saying goodbye. Thank you, San Jose International, for being generous and lax with curbside security. I kissed her, then turned and kissed her again. The face had taken on features.

Give me until May, I thought. My suspension would be over. My book would be finished. If I couldn't get it represented, I'd look for a better job in an HR capacity, hopefully in the Bay Area. We'd talked about wanting to take a trip to Fiji or Tahiti. Paris, as well. But the Pacific Islands were our number one choice.

"For our honeymoon," I joked, "we'll spend one week in Paris and the other in Tahiti."

"I've heard the food in Tahiti isn't very good, and the locals aren't friendly."

"Fiji it is, then."

"I want to take you to this restaurant in Paris. Olivia and I went there when we were in Paris. You can't see it from the street. You have to go down a long flight of stairs to get there. Three-star Michelin-rated. Michael, it's the best meal I've ever had."

If we couldn't dream, what would we do? Grace upon grace, the ability to imagine, to daydream, elevate our minds and spirit above the weariness of living.

On the flight home, I sat beside a Middle Eastern couple. The woman, very pretty, wore gold bracelets on both arms, reaching to her elbows. The man wore several pieces of jewelry, also. Halfway home, the flight attendant got on the intercom and asked if Mr. Ha.s.san would ring his buzzer. The man stood, shuffled past me and walked to the back of the plane. The lady on the intercom announced congratulations to them, that they were newlyweds and the airline would like to give them a complimentary bottle of champagne. The man returned and I offered him congratulations. He thanked me. Several others wished the couple well and the attendant presented them with the champagne. "Of course, you can't open it on the plane," she said.

Nash picked me up at the airport. I put my suitcase in the backseat, crammed with cooking utensils and food supplies for PATH, a homeless ministry our church supports. He'd been up since 5 a.m., having cooked breakfast for the residents there. He and other members of his community group have been doing it once a month for six years. We went to a nearby British pub and ordered dinner. He told me he was thinking, after this year, of going part-time in school. He couldn't sleep he was so stressed out, mostly at the thought of being $160k in debt and living dest.i.tute for the next twenty years. For two consecutive summers, he traveled to Kenya to serve at a PCC-sponsored orphanage. It did a number on his heart and, after the second trip, he returned with a desire to work in public service. It's why he quit the film industry, studied for and took the LSAT, and enrolled in law school. But the thought of being sixty and still living in poverty was causing him anxiety. We stayed there until late, talking about G.o.d and faith and life. We'd both taken strange career paths, in the arts, and they didn't work out. Now, we were at the place in our lives where we needed G.o.d to show up. If not, I would lose this woman. Nash would come to his wit's end. We were on our faces in prayer, pleading with G.o.d to do a work. He must.

At the creperie in Los Gatos, Jessie and I talked about decisions and how we made them. "I've never made a pros and cons list," I told her. It was true. I weigh decisions in my mind, the benefits of each, but have never written a list. She was surprised by that.

"I've become more conservative over the years," I said. "You should have seen me at 30. But still, I know what I want; and if I pray about it and get no conviction otherwise, I do it. Trust G.o.d and don't look back. I don't know how else to live."

We all have an image in our minds of how we want our lives to look. Loving G.o.d, strong family and strong career-the American ideal. Some get it and G.o.d bless them for it. That's most of the friends I have in church. Life worked out for them, and they trusted G.o.d along the way.

But not everyone's works that way. Mine didn't, likely because of the decisions I made. But with an American Dream Christianity often comes a sense of self-reliance; and I'd rather be in a position of need, face down on the floor praying, pleading with G.o.d for help, than bargaining with the chips of prosperity and self-sufficiency.

"You are worth the risk." I told her from the start.

"But what if we end up hurting each other?"

"I won't hurt you. If it's me that gets hurt, you're worth it. And I'd do it again."

And I would. Gladly.

Travis was at the bus stop the next morning, bundled with gloves, coat, cap and his enormous backpack. "It's cold," he said. "This morning it was in the 40s. Do you know if it's snowing in the mountains? I hope so. We might go up this weekend."

"Where would you go? Big Bear?"

"Yeah, Mammoth or Big Bear. Probably Big Bear. I like it. It's not as big. My friends go there. Mammoth has more runs, but Big Bear is cheaper. $25 a lift ticket versus $90."

"Do you ski or board?"

"Board. I surf, too, so it's the same."

"It's cool you grew up here and learned to surf."

"Yeah, maybe I'll become one of those surf legends or s...o...b..ard legends. That would be cool."

"Where do you surf?"

"Past Malibu. I can't remember the name of the beach. I like it because the sand is tilted and you don't have to swim out as far. You step into the water and it comes up to your waist. I bodyboard, too. There's a water trampoline and sometimes I swim out past the waves and sit on it. There are lifeguards out there and if I get tired I can ride back on one of their boards.

"Is it still snowing in the San Gabriel Mountains? I'd like to board down those hills. That's wild that it snowed there. The first time it's snowed there in forever. Do you know how long it's been? Gosh, it must be 15, 16 years."

"I was thinking 12."

"It's global warming. My grandfather doesn't believe in global warming. He says it's just the weather change. But how can you not believe in it? The polar ice caps are melting."

Chapter Twenty-Two.

I asked Marilyn, the a.s.sociate at Pugliese's office, if I could forego installing the interlock device and ride out the remainder of my suspension, biking and bussing. She said it was fine, allowable by the DMV. I found not driving calmed me; it quieted my soul. I was enjoying this season of life and wasn't sure I was ready to get back to hectic L.A. traffic. On the bus, I stood beside a homeless lady carrying a huge bag wrapped in duct tape. I enjoyed standing next to her. It sounds prideful to say that, as I shouldn't have noticed she was homeless, but at the same time it's impossible not to. We're not in the Kingdom yet and, in this life, we judge people based on appearance and clothing and social status. However, being surrounded by those different from us diminishes it to a degree. The thought of being another driver on the road, judged by my car, rushing everywhere, never slowing down-I'd eventually do it, but didn't look forward to it as much as I thought I would.

The next morning, I saw Travis at the bus stop.

"So you play baseball, I heard?"

"Yeah, I want to play in high school and get a scholarship to USC. Do you know where Veterans Park in Santa Monica is?"

"Of course."

"Me and my brother were throwing the ball there. I kept having to take a step back because I can throw it such a long way. A step back is like...one city block. That's how far I can throw it. I'm hoping it's not too late to sign up. Games start in March."

"Are you going boarding this weekend?"

"Yeah. I'm hoping I can do both, s...o...b..ard and play baseball. Hey, do you see the trash over there? A group of crows came by this morning and were throwing the trash all around."

"What time was that?"

"Twenty minutes ago."

"What time do you get here in the morning?"

"6:15. I like to see the sunrise."

With Valentine's Day approaching, I bought my ticket for the weekend before. It would be a short trip this time. Her mother's birthday was Sunday, so I'd fly up Sat.u.r.day and leave after church the next day. I bid for a hotel room online, a mile from the airport; the bid was accepted. A different hotel, which I was excited about. Even a creature of habit needs change every now and then. The week before, my cell reception at home began failing. Dropped calls. No service inside my apartment. I called the carrier multiple times and filed several service requests, but it didn't improve. Whenever Jessie and I tried to call each other, the call would drop. Ten, fifteen times a night. Finally, out of frustration, we stopped trying and kept conversation to online chatting.

It wasn't a big deal, I thought. I'd be up that weekend. Also, she was moving out of her parents' house at the end of February. We'd decided to start video chatting once she did. I spent hours that week researching restaurants and reading reviews. Most places were booked for the weekend, but I found a 5:30 reservation at a highly-rated (read: highly-expensive) French restaurant in Saratoga. I messaged her, "We're going to have the most romantic early-bird special you've ever had."

She replied soon after, asking what time I was going to be home that night. Perhaps I'm more cynical than need be, but she called me "Michael." She usually called me by one of our pet nicknames.

I said I'd be home at seven and followed it with, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes and no. Will tell you about it later."

I worked out with Andrew that afternoon. I told him I was concerned-there was a formality to her message that disturbed me.

"Quit, man. You're building it up in your head. There's nothing to worry about."

At seven, I called and got her voice mail. She returned the call a few minutes later. I walked outside for fear of dropping the connection. We said h.e.l.lo, briefly exchanging greetings.

"Did you have dinner?" she asked.

I knew she was stalling. "No. It's the furthest thing from my mind. What's wrong, Jessie?"

And that was it. It ended during that conversation. I knew, going into the relationship, the issues that threatened it. I told her how much I cared for her, that I wanted to be with her, but I wasn't going to beg. Wasn't going to grovel. We'd talk later, but right now I wanted to get off the phone.

I'd told her before, if we could make it through this time, there would be no stopping us, no limit to how good we could be together. The weight of my legal problems, stress of her family concerns and uncertainty of financial worries-yet we still adored each other. Nothing would be able to stop us.

Give me until May. It was simply a self-imposed deadline, but I'm one who needs goals.

I went inside, somewhat numb, though still hopeful. I fell to my knees beside the sofa and prayed, but soon rose and began typing a prayer, one that struck to the heart of it. She was a gift. I had eight months of knowing her. I'd take that over not knowing her and avoiding the hurt. If I got hurt, it was worth it, the chance to know her and possibly be together. I'd do it every time without hesitation. That's not recklessness. There's a vast difference. To be with a woman I enjoyed, with whom I connected on every level, who was smart and funny and I was attracted to and wanted to kiss and stare at for hours on end, learning the curves of her face, the variances of her smile, the numerous inflections of her voice-that's not recklessness. That's the desire to live fully, as we were meant to live. We weren't meant to live stale lives and suffer through pa.s.sionless marriages, divorcing 50% of the time, perhaps more, until finally we've resigned to sleep with our backs to a spouse in a bed that might as well be an ice hut it's so cold. We were meant to live pa.s.sionately, freely, embracing the gifts G.o.d wants to give us, sleeping with our eyes lighted upon the face of one who knows us deeply, more intimately than anyone else.

Who doesn't want to be known like that? On an earthly level, it's the greatest gift G.o.d gives. Eve to Adam, and Adam responds with a poem. We shouldn't accept the Fall as the norm. We should resist it. The glimpses of the eternal are what we were meant for, not to accept a curse and distract ourselves to numb its pain. We should jump high and far, trying to catch that rare glimpse, life as it should have been and one day will be, when we can take joy and squeeze it until it oozes between our fingers and never let it go. At least that's the way I see it.

That night, I slept two, maybe three hours. A light sleep. The next morning, I walked to the bus stop, pushing away the doubts as best I could, keeping all my focus outward. I said h.e.l.lo to Travis.

"You missed it. The crows came back this morning. They took the last of the stuff they missed yesterday."

"When do you wake up?" I asked.

"5:00."

"Do you set an alarm?"

"Yeah. The first thing I do is go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. That wakes me right up."

"You'll probably wake up early your entire life."

"Yeah, I'm like a 70-year-old man and I'm only 10. I'm going to be like one of those old men who stretch really big and say, 'That was a day.' Then they go to bed at 5:00 and get up at the crack of dawn."

I laughed. "What time you go to bed?"

"8:30, usually. Except sometimes, I'll stay up if there's a good show on. Like on Sunday night, Fox has 'Animation Domination' until 10."

The #3 bus pulled to the stop.

"Have a good day," I said, boarding.

The new driver, a black lady with a moly face and blonde wig asked, "Is that your son? He looks like a nice boy."

I said h.e.l.lo. "He's not mine. He's cool, though."

Maybe that's all we get in this life, shades of grace. Hints. Teasers, perhaps. A slice of heaven breaks into the earth, this world as we know it. We long to keep the moment, but it pa.s.ses, as all good things must in a temporal world, destined to one day disappear. Someday, all will be made new, all cracks mended and all fractures repaired. But for now, we walk the ground of this dusty earth, looking forward to the day when our work will be done for the sake of worship, rather than ident.i.ty, when our relationships will be pure and permanent, when laughter will come as a blaring drum, with no fear or doubt to mute its glory.

But that day is not yet. Until then, we get glimpses; and a glimpse, by nature, is rare and often comes when it's not expected, in small doses. I caught a glimpse and it was wonderful. Perhaps I'll catch another. Someone else will come along and steal my heart, and capture my breath. But I can't expect it. I can't demand it. I know I can't settle, though. Once someone has seen and felt something pure and otherworldly, anything less would be settling, and I won't do that.

Maybe the weight of our actions and decisions is heavier than we thought. Maybe it's lighter. Maybe love doesn't conquer all, at least not in this lifetime. Maybe that's to point us to something greater, a deeper truth, that this life can never satisfy the whole of our desires. We try to make it so and end up placing our joy in circ.u.mstances and earthly treasures that break and slip from our fingers. One day love will win out-it will be perfect and pure, radiant and all-fulfilling; but we're not there yet, and until then, we take the glimpses we receive and give thanks for them. They were unpredicted and often came at the perfect time, when we needed them. Surely, G.o.d knows our need.

I could have never expected all of this. Couldn't have envisioned it if I tried. Had we met two years ago, we'd have never been interested in each other. At the very least, she'd have seen me with long hair and a beard and run the other way. She came at the perfect time. She filled me with joy and excitement and the desire to be and do something great, to break the mold of vacuous and disastrous relationships that litter our parks and neighborhoods. To be something more, to point to something greater. Do I wish it had lasted and my life had turned, the circ.u.mstances unfolding in the way I was beginning to see them unfurl? Of course. But I can't look upon a shadow of the eternal and expect it to stick around. We receive glimpses of the perfect and holy, but most of the time we carry through the sludge of a cracked and bruised earth, as much aching and longing as there is singing and praise. There can be praise, however, even in the sludge.

Lord, this began with you and it ends with you. I said, "Write the pages of my life from here on out," and I say it still. I can't do this alone. I can't see the answer, the way out. I can't see light from the blackness surrounding. All I know to do is keep going and trust that G.o.d will be gracious and kind. I don't know how else to live, other than the way I'm compelled-the words of Augustine. I have to believe it's true, though hope grows faint.

I've never needed G.o.d more than right now, and I guess that's the point. This life will always prove difficult; slings and arrows will always come our way. But maybe that's the way He wants it-us needing him. It makes me wonder if thirty, forty years from now, hopefully somewhere with my arms around that woman, I'll still need Him more at that moment than I ever have. Perhaps the moment we stop needing Him is the moment to worry.

The next Monday, I went to have my interlock device installed. The money pit caused by my foolishness. Marilyn had given me bad advice. I was required to put the interlock on my car for five months. I couldn't get my license back until I'd done so. Doug came by at 7:45. He was in a foul mood, I noticed. He drove my car to the mechanic's garage. I use the term liberally. It was simply an abandoned room. No car lift. No tools. It made me wonder, "Is this all the guy does, install interlock devices, riding the coattails of the DMV's greed?"