I pulled up to the abandoned cafe. A relic of the days in the San Fernando Valley when architecture mimicked the world of fantasy. Architectural Copies of European chalets and French bistros. Castles and stone cottages. There were many scattered down the boulevards in The Valley. The building I pulled up to was small, quaint, made of wood and shingled. It looked like it belonged in the town square of a small European village or tucked away in a magical forest. It was secured behind an iron fence with locked gates. Crooked brick steps and a wall made of brick added sustenance and charm.
I looked through the high ornate gates that were locked. Plants grew wild and untrimmed. Tangled vines, dusty and full of cobwebs, crowded around the multi- paned windows and blocked out the view of the interior. I could barely make out a wood counter and shelving through the windows.
The wind whipped around my clothes and the traffic was almost deafening. I was on Ventura Boulevard, a street that was really an urban highway in the center of one of the most densely populated areas of Los Angeles. The day was a perfect example of California June gloom. It was overcast and storm clouds were blown across the sky by cold winds coming in of the Pacific.
But I didn’t listen to the traffic, in fact I was barely aware of it, because it was replaced by a song that only I could hear. A song from years ago that had played in this very cafe. The music in my head transported me back to the cafe decades ago, where I had met friends; artists like me, for drinks. We met to share contacts and to spill the tea about the shows we were performing in. Although we had all met each other in Paris, we had all ended up in Los Angeles. We were between contracts, on vacation or respite for some reason. We had all managed to end up in this cafe, on this one special evening. Parisienne cafe music swirled and lilted through my brain, smiles and the sparkling eyes of my dinner companions came to life before my eyes. We are all good looking then, in amazing shape and we could conquer anything. I looked at their faces. So care free and beautiful; filled with excitement, anticipation and joy. We all knew something was around the corner for us that was magical. We had danced and sang upon the vintage stages of old Paris. Lived in the night and early morning hours and descended into sleep as the sun rose, similar to vampires. We were doted on and spoiled by wealthy benefactors that wined and dined us and attempted to put us in gilded cages like beautiful, rare birds. Few of us had ever acquiesced to their charms and gifts. We loved to drift through the night, free and unhindered; to the next new experience and opportunity.
That special night we drank wine and ate well. We shared theatre stories and laughed for hours. We praised each other and showered each other with adoration and teasing reminders of our strange lives as cabaret performers.
Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
Suddenly, faint shadows moved across the windows. The shadows moved gracefully and as if they were dancing. I initially pulled back because I didn’t want to be seen, but then I couldn’t help myself and I peered through the gate again. I could hear faint notes of music, ghostly in cadence. Breaking the silence, my smart watch broke into the cascade alarm I had set to remind me to get to the gym. I got in my car and headed off to finish the rest of my day. As I drove down the boulevard, I passed yet another French Cafe that lay closed and abandoned. Less than a year ago, I had taken a client there for lunch.
I realized that our physical world is constantly changing, but dreams and spirits of the past never do. I decided I would drive by after dark and see if there was any life or light still in the little cafe. I knew I should let it go, stay away. It was locked up for a reason. But this was no journey fit for the use of practical wisdom. I decided I definitely would go back.
Photo by Артём Мякинник on Unsplash