Monday morning is painted in blue. I put on my favorite blue polka dot dress that gives me a fresh feeling, and I run to school with Eli. The journey takes us twenty minutes. Thank goodness for sneakers! We're running late.
I've decided not only to post stories about the orange sunsets. About carefree days on California beaches, but to show our everyday life without embellishments. About my life here in the port city of Long Beach. I would love to preserve its authenticity and current state. Not just in my mind, but also the places where I live with my husband and our five-year-old daughter as a family. And if the American continent is still completely unknown or less explored to you, or if you're looking for inspiration for a dream vacation in the country, I can be your off-the-beaten-path guide. So let's do this.
That decision is right because something very unpleasant happened today, and I'll share it with you. I'm sitting in front of a café where they already know my name. I'm sipping coffee, observing everything around me. A man with two cute dogs, a large American Coca-Cola truck, a lady picking up freshly ironed white shirts from the laundry. A beautiful and stylish African-American woman smiles at me from the opposite table, and I return the smile. The sun is starting to lean against my back. It's a wonderfully pleasant feeling. I continue my musings and start translating my story about Las Vegas into English.
When a man parks next to me in a car, he starts yelling and gesturing wildly. I can see that he is in a very intoxicated state and smoking marijuana. I put on my headphones, play my favorite dance album, and continue translating. I don't even know how long I've been sitting here. When I finish writing, I want to take a walk on the beach. The man in the car drives alongside me at the speed of my steps, shouting and offering me a joint. Do I look like a party girl? I walk down the street. It happens to be a day when some streets are being cleaned, so there are no parked cars anywhere. The driver gets even closer. Crazy thoughts race through my head. Should I run? No, I can't run. Should I go into a salon at the end of the street? Phew, they're closed. What if he grabs my hand and pulls me into his car? Where is the police, and should I call 911? The only thing that comes to mind is calling my husband. I look for a spot where I can wait for him. A place with a lot of people, in front of the bank. I try not to cry and move my hair to the side so he doesn't see my panicked face. The man is still in the car next to me, then he realizes that I probably won't be his partner and sharply turns and drives away. A few minutes later, I break down in tears in the car with my husband. Those few minutes walking down the street felt endless. I'm shaking, my shoulders are tense, my stomach hurts. We go to a restaurant. I'm safe now.
And that's our Long Beach today. What would you have done in that moment? Was the situation dangerous? Or was it just a game of cat and mouse?
In conclusion, despite my long love for America, as you know, I would like to point out that every citizen in the USA owns a gun. Marijuana is legally available here. Everything is allowed here. As the ideology says: an American citizen is free because they live in a free country.
Today, I didn't feel free. Oh, and we made it to school with Eli.
Take care.
Yours, Sweetest Dot.
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