Pub In The Park

There was an Orange County girl that I knew that was also an Orange County lawyer. She was what people other myself would call something else. I would call her Other, and spectacularly so. She was born in the United States to a Haitian father and an Iranian mother with a fondness for Hamsa Hands that she kept all over the house and the car. Where most people would put those fuzzy car dice or a scented tree (you know the kind because I know you saw Se7en : the kind that were hung up in the half corpsified man’s apartment who was played by a man in half-corpsified makeup), she hung a blue Hamsa hand to protect her from the crazy drivers in Orange County. And there are crazy drivers there, but then again, there are crazy drivers everywhere now. It’s the speed at which those drivers go. When they look at the road when going that speedy speed, the white dashes making borders on the road where you may and may not go and what times go so fast it hypnotizes them and they start to drive kind of crazy. I know I do.

And that was the kind of crazy this other girl was. She had a need for speed. She had the need for transgressing and threading borders and making new borders that she then could stitch together again like some makeshift transcultural and transsocial blanket that would keep everyone warm. She did that with her work. She does that with her work. She is still alive but since she is gone and moved away from my apartment complex that she adorned with leftover Hamsa Hands she had, it feels like she is gone permanently, and has transgressed heavenly or unheavenly borders: she could handle either, whether or not they could handle her I do not know and it does not matter because those are not borders that interest me.

She worked for anyone who needed help and used the money she got from the richer clients to give a chance to the poor clients with legitimate complaints about landlords and property damage and other kinds of problems: she was a modern day saint in high heels and a purse made from old scarves her mother wore on Monday through Friday: she would help the poor, the needy, the others like her, those whose parents transgressed borders to be with one another. It was in her blood to do so. She was great and I love Orange County Lawyers now because of her and that is the only story I want to tell about her for now.