Mariella Gattini

From this angle, things are pleasantly chaotic. Still accommodating my things in the new place. Still trying to understand my surroundings, my neighbors, their feet up the stairs, the murmur of their voices. Today is a good day, for a new beginning.

Everybody strolls on the side walk toward the direction of a Bernie 2020 sign. Even motorcycles seem to muffle their noise to be able to listen and feel this vibe of a pleasant way to live. The Griffith Observatory appears majestic, looking away from me. The tall, ancient palms introduce themselves as the firm columns that sustain the bright blue sky, and announce that we are undeniably in Los Angeles. They say they have been here for the longest time, and are not going anywhere. The homes perching from the hill are encrusted in a deep vegetation that both protects them and helps them get away from the reality of others.

I, instead, am down here among the terrestrial beings forging a new reality, going in every direction. New couples in love, walking hand in hand, or hugging, roam around as if nobody else existed but them. With shaggy haircuts, baseball caps, and 70’s style pants, the ones with the flair, paired with the so-called “ugly sneakers”. Dog walkers are guided by six or eight mixed-race rescued dogs on one hand, and a cup of coffee from the nearest coffee shop that delivers aromas and savory goods on the other.

There are at least three churches of different denominations close by, brandishing their towers among the top of the oldest palms. Some cars are parked in an almost vertical position. The trees, over there in the corner, are laughing at me. They have seen people like me over the decades coming and going, and like them, I won’t be here for long, they say. I’m not the first one, and certainly not the last one, to attempt to assess what is happening in our surroundings.

The preppy new guy has a smart phone in one hand, and the other is latching onto a lap dog in need of its daily exercise. A guy was looking at me. He seemed interested in these apartments, but left. Maybe because he felt observed too attentively. A toddler in the company of his grandfather attempts his first steps on the side walk with a ball in his hands.

I try to tell them that this is not about me. It’s about them. But how could I say such a thing without scaring them? My intense observations are too much for a casual conversation. The FedEx truck parked at the stop sign. A middle-aged woman crossed the street, and the truck disappeared.

If I look for too long at the street nothing happens. I look away for a moment, and I almost miss the Ford truck changing directions by turning in O, not in U. Here, dogs are the guides, not humans. Follow a dog, and you’ll find somebody behind them hanging from their leashes. An old lady just crossed the street, holding a leopard-print umbrella that protects her from the sun. A young new mom is showing her baby the aromatic leaves they see passing by. A little girl with golden locks, in a pale pink dress that looks more like a candy wrapper, is crossing the street hand in hand with her young dad in a black T-shirt, jeans, and black Vans. She looks like a baby doll. The Shirley Temple of this era. A photographer crouches down in the middle of the street to capture the top of the towering palms that produce a spectacle very few can ignore. A slender, blond guy in a plaid shirt and jeans leans against one of the palm’s trunk to check his smart phone. A twenty-something woman, with a lot on her mind, wearing a black T-shirt, loose pants, and flat sandals, carries a grocery bag on one of her shoulders, and embracing a bunch of books with both of her arms, is walking in the opposite direction of the Bernie Sanders 2020 sign.

It’s getting late. It’s time to turn the lights on by the window. By doing so, I’ll become the spectacle, not them. In a few minutes, I’ll have to roll down the shades facing the street to disappear from their sight. Not before capturing the first internal lighting at the Observatory. All the cars have already turned their lights on. A black Mercedes 350 just parked in front of my window, by the stop sign—they are next door visitors. On the other side of the street, a guy with his luggage is waiting and looking at his phone. I looked away for a moment, and he’s gone.

The Observatory looks more and more luminous now. I know, I’m aware that it’s time to close the window, but I can’t have enough. I’m becoming more and more noticeable, and because of that, I know, I’m certain, nobody will continue to be themselves knowing that somebody is observing them. But I can’t have enough. This is a vibrant place, full of energy, that makes me want to be part of it. The trees over there in the corner are not laughing anymore. They see my sincere approach to them. My work is serious. I’m not here to take advantage of them, I’m here to observe and admire; to love and appreciate. That’s it.

There is very little natural light now. People on the other side of the street are almost imperceptible. Only the cars’ lights awaken my consciousness, and I had enough of them already.

Back to my internal life. Lots to do in the domesticity of this new adventure of mine. There is always tomorrow. You never know.