Santa Monica Pier

Artists, Asian tourists, angst-ridden teens, street performers, bleached hair, bratty kids, starry eyed couples, disgruntled hobos, muffin tops, fanny packs, and miniskirts all make their way to this jewel by the sea. As if these varying forms of humanity aren't enough entertainment, there is a theme park as well.

My sister and I waded through the crowd of beer bellied dads and bronzed bodies. Latino children darted between paler legs of eastern origin, calling loudly to one another in their thick accents and foreign tongue, sugar laden churros clenched tightly in hand. The Ferris wheel towered overhead, winding lazily; it's heaving sighs and groaning gears silenced by the teeming crowds below. We pushed our way through the masses and headed for the far end of the pier, the part that stretched farthest over the glistening waters and closest to the burning sunset. Others went before us. We all wanted to be close to that place.

We reached the end of the pier and followed the stream of bodies settling on wooden bleachers that seemed to climb the sky. My sister and I slipped between one of the two top rows, the sunlight shinning hard atop our amber lenses and the crashing waves below.

We stayed there, watching the movement of the sun paint the sky with passionate pinks and purples. The foaming waters below rolled and twisted in approval. The two elements, fire and water, mingled along the horizon. My whole body buzzed with beauty and sensuality of the scene before me.

The strum of an acoustic guitar brought me back from my entrancement. I looked down to find a boy standing at a mike, guitar around his neck. He opened his mouth and in that moment Santa Monica Pier became more than what it was. A haunting "Hallelujah" by Rufus Wainwright resonated over the wooden planks of the pier, the bodies before him, and the waves beneath him. Santa Monica Pier had become someplace higher.

The song broke me and moved inside me. It took me to places and thoughts in my mind reserved for moments of great inspiration. I watched the people listening to the boy's song and I watched the sea swelling before me and the sun stealing away with violent light. People are beautiful, I thought to myself. This life is beautiful.

I asked my sister for a pen and rummaged around in my purse for a piece of paper, business card, anything. I had to share this feeling. When it came down to it, all I had was a taco in its wrapper left over from lunch. I scrawled on the wooden bench hastily to get the ink flowing and wrote:

Hey,

All I had was a taco to write on. I just wanted to let you know that your music is a blessing from God. Thanks for the inspiration.

Turn taco over.

~Taylor

I wrapped a dollar bill around it, slipped it in his money bucked and left.