We used to go on a motorcycle on the coast. I, with my arms heavily around him and my headphones placed, listening to Puccini and singing “or mine Babbino expensive” at the back of the bicycle, while watching the brightness in the Pacific, the palm trees, the surfers and the people in The beaches, some jogging, others waiting for the Valet Parking service. I was a woman of just over 20 years.
We met at Greg E Yvonne's dinner in Buchanan Street in San Francisco. When I arrived, Yvonne, who is from Paris, whispered in my ear: “We invited two single. You can choose one ”.
At that time I didn't even know what a single was. Eric's eyes were glued to me all night. Before leaving, he said: “If you ever come to Los Angeles, call me” and then handed me his number. I called it a few months later from San Francisco and I went to visit him for three days, just before my friend of that time, Hélène, an Au Pair de Lyon, France, and I left the United States to return to Europe.
January forest fires in Los Angeles have made me review all my relationship with Eric, the good and the bad, and those first three days after I picked me up at Burbank airport in its convertible. During my visit he gave me his room, with the flannel sheets on the bedroom on the bed, and slept on the couch. (His sister, Tina, was also visiting Seattle with her fiance).
Eric took me to the Los Angeles County Art Museum, Rodeo Drive, Hollywood, Venice already the coast to Malibu to meet Dori and Larry, who had a house in Big Rock. I was so grateful that I didn't want to go to Disneyland and preferred to do a picnic on the beach. Then he showed me the Virgins Road, we crossed the tunnel and then by Mulholland Drive to Topanga Canyon.
He loved “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach and gave me a copy.
Later, when I moved with him to a house in the San Fernando Valley, we went to eat at a small fish market in Topanga Canyon Boulevard, where I roasted Malviscos for the first time. Sometimes we also had dinner in Reel Inn and Moonshadows, but Geoffrey's in Malibu was my favorite.
Sitting in this high space overlooking the blue ocean was like being in southern France and food was artistically presented. There, Eric took a picture of my reflection on a glass table. I remembered “The art of loving” by Erich Fromm, which I read when I was 15 years old. “Love is not natural. Rather, it requires discipline, concentration, patience, faith and overcoming narcissism. ”
In 2002, Eric died of an aneurysm when he was 49 years old. He was buried in Glen Haven & Sholom Memorial Park in Sylmar, where Hurst's fire was recently held. When I saw the flames and smoke from the fires on the screen thousands of kilometers away, I felt as if I had lost Eric again. The silent tears became sobs when a video showed the damages along the Pacific Coast Highway. These sobs came from the depths of my being.
I had built my life about this love and lived in Los Angeles for almost half of my years. I studied in Santa Monica College and UCLA, and then I started US studies in Berlin and analyzed “Mildred Pierce”, watching Joan Crawford desperately contemplate the Pacific before being saved by a Los Angeles police officer.
So I've been looking at old photographs and letters. Eric was May 5, 1987.
“Now it is night and the sky has a beautiful and strange purple tone up, which fades until it becomes silver in the west and then in a soft golden color on the horizon,” he wrote.
“There is a bright crescent that shines directly. A plane crosses the face of the moon and I can see people's silhouettes in the windows. Turn and advance east through the desert, towards the night. It is silent again. ”
Eric and I didn't even reach three years, but we decided to make a trip to Hawaii to have a memorable and longer separation before separating forever. When we returned from our trip, I could not take me to Los Angeles International Airport to take my flight to Stuttgart, Germany. His mother had been hospitalized due to a brain tumor, so he had to run to Seattle.
I still remember our trip, that crispy there with pineapple sauce, the rainbows in Kauai and the sweet smell of the orchids and plumeria of the necklaces.
During our separation, Eric sent me a letter: “The reason I have not called you is not because I do not like you but because it would be very difficult to talk to you. I think the only thing we would do would be to cry and not say anything. With luck, we can talk soon. I had a great time with you in Hawaii. I will never forget it. ”
Recently, I called Geoffrey's from Le Havre, France, where I live, to check if he was still standing. I felt very relieved when the woman who spoke on the phone said: “We are still cleaning today, but we will reopen tomorrow.”
“Is it possible to arrive by PCH?” I asked.
“You have to take 101,” he said.
When I heard 101, I felt as if I was at home again in Los Angeles. These were my streets, the city in which I had lived for longer than my hometown, the city that formed me, but I don't think I have that feeling again. That feeling when I arrived at Lax, seeing the blinking lights of Los Angeles and their grilles, thinking that the world was full of possibilities and knowing that Eric was waiting for me there.
Although so many years have passed, I still see it in my mind, feeding the seagulls on Zuma beach, while watching the seagulls on the La Mancha channel, grayish green. And I think about how we drove through California 118, I holding the steering wheel, my hair waving in the wind while he tried to retain him, chatting happily. When I listen to one of Eric's favorite songs, “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong, I feel he is still somewhere, trying to tell me that he loves me.
The author is an independent and art critic writer. He has written for The Times, several art magazines of Los Angeles and the Times of Israel. He lives in Le Havre, France. She is on Instagram: @Simonesuzannekussatz
Los Angeles Affairs He tells the search for romantic love in all his glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to hear his true story. We pay $ 400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find shipping guidelines. here. You can find previous columns. here.
