Sunsets
By Stephanie Kemp
Santa Monica is sad. I just walked around for 3 hours on a Sunday afternoon, so I know this.
Where are the people?
What happened to the promenade?
What is this mall?
Is this the new Pali High?
Why are there still the same amount of toilets in the Mens’ room as the Womens’?
Where.
Are.
The.
People.
?
I drove to this side of town early because I (thought I) wanted to see people.
My old beach friends.
But I forgot that people don’t really like drop-ins anymore.
They (we) are busy.
Plus, I haven’t really been around for over 20 years, so it might be a little awkward (at first).
I am falling back into shoulds…
Is this true?
Or do I just not know what I like to do anymore?
I think people are are sick of me. Especially (and ironically) because they never see me.
I am.
Maybe I just need to tuck and roll more often.
If this is even possible.
Social is still hard.
I’m trying.
But I will be happy to go to the mountains this week.
Cancer made me lonely when I was with (too many) people.
I know how this sounds. And feels.
This is why I am trying.
______________________
I’m at the screening.
Laemmle Monica. Sitting by myself in a big comfy seat trying not to be nervous while wondering why I am nervous.
This is not a popcorn movie.
A doc about Early-Onset Alzheimer’s called “Walk With Me,” that Tegan told me about. A woman she knows documenting her husband’s (and her own) journey into and through a terrifying thing.
Her name is Heidi. I just introduced myself. She is so brave.
Maybe this is why I am nervous.
Tegan, who lost Sam to Early Alzheimer’s last year, told me about Heidi and Charlie for years. I somehow knew more about a documentary being made than what was happening with my friend and her husband.
I didn’t take enough walks with my friend.
This is why I’m here.
In seat C1 eavesdropping on D3 and D4:
“She doesn’t have distribution yet.”
“She’s funding these screenings herself, so it can qualify.”
“She’s so brave.”
After the screening (devastating), I walked back to the ocean’s edge and took a picture of the setting sun, impossibly pretty in a much changed (to my eye) city and season.
I am thinking about husbands.
And wives.
And memory.
I wish the documentary could have been the one Heidi set out and wanted to make.
The one where they found a cure in time for her husband.
And for Sam.
And for everyone anyone loves.
I am thinking about memories.
As I was walking back to the car, a boy/man (tall, tattoos, backwards baseball hat over a low pony tail, full beard, muscle tee and jean shorts, holding his girlfriend’s hand) asked if I was ok - twice - as I distractedly crossed the street, thinking about the movie and a sunset over a city I used to know and still love. He had to ask his question twice because it never even occurred to me that he would have been talking to me.
Am I ok?
I forgot that people are still nice.
And trying really hard.
Including me.
Maybe it isn’t Santa Monica that is sad.
And yes, I am ok.
![]()
Where are the people?
What happened to the promenade?
What is this mall?
Is this the new Pali High?
Why are there still the same amount of toilets in the Mens’ room as the Womens’?
Where.
Are.
The.
People.
?
I drove to this side of town early because I (thought I) wanted to see people.
My old beach friends.
But I forgot that people don’t really like drop-ins anymore.
They (we) are busy.
Plus, I haven’t really been around for over 20 years, so it might be a little awkward (at first).
I am falling back into shoulds…
Is this true?
Or do I just not know what I like to do anymore?
I think people are are sick of me. Especially (and ironically) because they never see me.
I am.
Maybe I just need to tuck and roll more often.
If this is even possible.
Social is still hard.
I’m trying.
But I will be happy to go to the mountains this week.
Cancer made me lonely when I was with (too many) people.
I know how this sounds. And feels.
This is why I am trying.
______________________
I’m at the screening.
Laemmle Monica. Sitting by myself in a big comfy seat trying not to be nervous while wondering why I am nervous.
This is not a popcorn movie.
A doc about Early-Onset Alzheimer’s called “Walk With Me,” that Tegan told me about. A woman she knows documenting her husband’s (and her own) journey into and through a terrifying thing.
Her name is Heidi. I just introduced myself. She is so brave.
Maybe this is why I am nervous.
Tegan, who lost Sam to Early Alzheimer’s last year, told me about Heidi and Charlie for years. I somehow knew more about a documentary being made than what was happening with my friend and her husband.
I didn’t take enough walks with my friend.
This is why I’m here.
In seat C1 eavesdropping on D3 and D4:
“She doesn’t have distribution yet.”
“She’s funding these screenings herself, so it can qualify.”
“She’s so brave.”
After the screening (devastating), I walked back to the ocean’s edge and took a picture of the setting sun, impossibly pretty in a much changed (to my eye) city and season.
I am thinking about husbands.
And wives.
And memory.
I wish the documentary could have been the one Heidi set out and wanted to make.
The one where they found a cure in time for her husband.
And for Sam.
And for everyone anyone loves.
I am thinking about memories.
As I was walking back to the car, a boy/man (tall, tattoos, backwards baseball hat over a low pony tail, full beard, muscle tee and jean shorts, holding his girlfriend’s hand) asked if I was ok - twice - as I distractedly crossed the street, thinking about the movie and a sunset over a city I used to know and still love. He had to ask his question twice because it never even occurred to me that he would have been talking to me.
Am I ok?
I forgot that people are still nice.
And trying really hard.
Including me.
Maybe it isn’t Santa Monica that is sad.
And yes, I am ok.
