It was Halloween, October 31, 1976. I had been recovering from my first major depression.
That day, I had gone shopping with my girlfriend Marcia. We had been friends since high school and had many friends in common.
I bought a black short sleeved cotton blouse made in India. It was quite lovely, as I recall. There was orange and green embroidery at the blouse top, as I remember. I threw it in the back seat of my car and then I drove to my cousin Margie’s house.
Margie was actually my mother’s first cousin. She had recently arrived from Cleveland where most of my mother’s side of the family lived. She was divorcing, as I recall. We were both single, she about 25 years older than I was. She knew a lot about the strain of depression that ran through the family. We became good friends and was sort of a mentor for me.
She made us a lovely dinner at her home. I think she was living in Marina del Rey at the time.
When she heard I was planning to go to an Arican Halloween party in Santa Monica after leaving her house, she took a close look at me.
First she said, “I don’t like the blouse you’re wearing. Do you have another?”
I remembered the blouse I had just thrown in the back seat of my car and brought it in. I put it on. She looked closely and said it was OK.
Then she told me to put on some makeup. I had none with me. She gave me some of her lipstick, mascara, and a touch of rouge for my cheeks. I put on the makeup and she approved.
She handed me a brush and said, “Brush your hair!” which I did. She looked at me closely again and said I could go.
I drove to a large Spanish home in Santa Monica where a group of Aricans were living. I think they were about fourteen blocks from the beach. I was living in a different part of Los Angeles then, near Hollywood.
I met a man there. His name was Michael. We sat on the floor together and talked for hours. We kissed. We were mostly together from that first day.