Growing up in Los Angeles (Part Twelve): After the Rain

Part 12: After the Rain

By Armando Ortiz

He walked outside to smoke a cigarette, and downtown LA’s skyline could be seen at a distance to the east from where he stood. It had rained earlier so the view was quite fresh and crisp. The lights at a distance flickered and he could see the old neon sign that read, Westlake Theater, suggesting to people that a long time ago the swap meet where everyone shopped had once been a venue for black and white films. A white Datsun could be seen at a distance driving west towards Vermont, and a thin haze of grey clouds hovered over the cityscape.

Standing on the roof of the apartment building, he lit his drag and suddenly heard symphony music at a distance. He looked around to see where the music was coming from but couldn’t quite make out its location. The music sounded important, with its violin and suspenseful melodies, conjuring up images of a distant love and present royalty, as if some queen or prince had decided to visit the neighborhood and the only proper thing to do was to put Beethoven or Mozart. None of that was happening though; it was a girl down the street that was celebrating her 15th birthday, a quinceanera. He soon spotted some kids dressed in long sleeve shirts that had been neatly ironed, wearing grey vests and pressed black pants, the shoes they wore, like the puddles by the sidewalk, reflected the liquefied amber color of the street light above. Somehow he’d linked the orchestra music to some embedded feeling or idea that he’d assimilated in the past. He wasn’t sure though.