Diaspora - Part 1

Holding two truths at one time

I did it for so many years it was almost automatic. If I ran from my house it was almost certain I would stop by Unincorporated Coffee on my way home. The coffee shop is less than a mile and a half from my house and the coffee break was such a regular routine that friends who ran with me assumed we were going to stop there before finishing. The regular stop, like everything else that was routine, came to an abrupt end the first week of January. Thankfully, Unincorporated, known for roasting their own blends of single origins from small, independent worldwide growers, was not destroyed in the fire but did suffer smoke damage causing the shop to close for repair.

The temporary closing of Unincorporated was all part of the shared misery to be endured by the diaspora of Altadenans. The sister Unincorporated Coffee, located in nearby Eagle Rock, remained open for business during the temporary shutdown of the Altadena location. Some of us belonging to the misplaced, including myself, made the Eagle Rock location our temporary home. Although some of the Altadena baristas made their way to Eagle Rock, the atmosphere, the vibe, the whole experience was totally foreign to me. Just not the same.

The owners of Unincorporated kept in touch with their fan base through a newsletter, and last week the much anticipated announcement was made that the Altadena store would be reopening on Friday. As a way of celebrating, all drinks would be on the house. Of course, I had to make it over there.

As a community, Altadena is uniquely diverse. Altadena is the home of Jet Propulsion Laboratory/NASA and a good number of my neighbors are, literally, rocket scientists. After World War II, Altadena provided affordable homes for families of color who were red lined or barred from buying in nearby Pasadena. And ever since, Altadena has become a model for the American ideal of the middle class. All races, cultures, socio-economic groups, family configurations,and every other way we tend to classify ourselves, are represented in the makeup of Altadena. Because of the ethnic diversity and progressive values of our community, everyone is welcome and everyone is loved and appreciated in Altadena. Altadenans are fiercely proud of our diversity.

Since my youth, it didn’t take me long to realize that my social universe revolved around different orbits dependent upon activities. I have school friends, church friends, work friends, running friends, and various other types of friends and like intersecting Venn diagrams, sometimes there is an overlap, but for the most part, these worlds do not collide.

Unincorporated is a world unto itself. Because I stopped there religiously on all of my local runs, all of the baristas and many of the patrons recognized me when I came in for my usual cortado with oat milk. After tackling miles of mountain trails, the short respite sipping a cortado was a welcome pleasure and meaningful reward for the longest (end) miles. Sitting with Altadena locals discussing everything under the sun was an added bonus.

Along with my other friend groups, I have two coffee shop friends who I see almost every time I stop into the shop on my way home. Strangely, I have known these people for years and I have no social media connection with them, not even a phone number. Yet, that hasn’t stopped us from revealing personal secrets or prevented us from having deep, thoughtful conversations on the many

of life itself. The first question is always the same when they see me still geared up from a run. “How far today?” No matter the distance, the answer is always followed by an incredulous head shake, then the questions of the day are discussed.

It’s just before noon on Friday, after weeks of being away, I step into the Altadena coffee shop. It’s raining and I’ve done my running earlier, so I’m dressed in my everyday clothes. It’s busy and buzzing with conversation. I recognize some faces in the crowded shop and I’m greeted, always by name, by baristas I haven’t seen in a while. There’s a feeling of familiarity and a feeling of newness in the vibe. I stand in line and I begin to notice something.

Nearly every customer in the shop is wearing new clothes, including myself. Without words of explanation, the new clothes told me all the stories I needed to know. I spot my friend F in one of the corners with his ever present chocolate labrador, Pierce. Pierce has a new harness and leash.

“Steve, hey, good seeing you!” F greets me with a hug.

I try not to stare, but F is not wearing the surfer casual attire I had always seen him in for years. Today he’s wearing a two-toned pullover hoodie, green upper half, white lower half. He’s also sporting new black jeans and new black boots, not the same as the jeans and flip flops I remembered him in previously.

“Yeah, my sister bought me this shirt,” he informs me as if uncannily reading my mind. Pierce rights himself from the floor and I reward him with a few soft pets on his broad head and shoulders.

“Sorry for your house,” he offers as his blue eyes begin to mist and well up.

“Sorry for your loss, too,” I counter. We’re both teary eyed now as our bodies begin to react to holding two truths at once. We’re happy to see each other but are also holding space for the grieving we are both feeling. As if on cue, our third friend, E, enters the scene and I’ve never seen him make a grander entrance.

The stately African American gentleman is dressed in a brand new matching denim jacket and pants outfit. A brightly colored scarf is worn around his neck like a tie and neatly tucked into the collar of the starch white shirt he’s wearing. Brand new black converse sneakers, with the classic white toes are the perfect accent to his suit. As if to crown his outfit, E has topped his head with a brand new black beret, tilted perfectly and subtly to one side of his head. E always has a casual air about him and now he stands in the middle of the room like a magazine model and both F and I smile and greet him.

“Looking rather natty there,” I quip.

“Thanks,” he says as coolly and casually as his outfit demands. E joins us, hugging us tightly.

“Man, I missed you guys,” his voice creaked and his eyes began to leak emotion. He too, has joined the reality of holding joy and sorrow together. The three of us are quiet for a moment, taking a step back and doing what our aunties used to do to us when we were kids. Eyeing us from head to toe and toe to head exclaiming, “Just look at you!” in wonder and admiration.

“Pierce and I will be moving to an apartment in Pasadena this week. We’ve been living in Motel 6 because it’s the only place that I could find that would take a big dog like him,” explains F.

“Yeah, my wife and I were able to find a place in North Hollywood. It’s just too hard to find a place nearby,” says the well-dressed man.

“My wife and I are living in the Verdugo Woodlands area of Glendale. Still close enough to run here,’” I offer. We all chuckle a bit.

After the reality of the diaspora has settled in, we talk about lawsuits against Southern California Edison for their negligent lack of action, the cost to rebuild, the loss of our favorite hangouts, the death of our lives as we knew them before. But at the end of our coffee conversation, we’re grateful for our health, our loved ones, and still being able to drink coffee in our favorite place.

I give E and F big tight hugs before I leave. Appropriately, as I walk to my car, the sky joins my emotion, sprinkling me with soft, tender rain. I sit in my car for a while before starting it up, debriefing myself, reliving the last hour of my life.

I smile through tears.

I cry while smiling.

Thanks for reading Tales From The Trails! Thank you to all of my subscribers and if you liked what you have read please consider subscribing for free to receive new posts every week and to support my work. I really want to hear your thoughts on my work so please consider leaving a like and comment. I greatly appreciate you being here and I’ll talk to you next week.