TANG DISCONNECTS

I am waiting for my cable to be turned off. The company has promised the guy will arrive between three and five p.m. I have crammed in as many movies as possible since yesterday. I have been typing e-mails to all my friends, warning of my impending landing on the East Coast.

At three, I move to the table to watch the street, outside. No truck arrives. I begin attending to last mail delivery items. Suddenly, from the door, their comes a distinct tap. A single rap.

I answer it, surprised to see a man anywhere from thirty-five to fifty; tanned, fit, carrying an alligator- embossed clipboard and sweating as if he'd just run a marathon.

"Cable, ma'am."

I sling the door as wide as it will go, letting in what breeze there is from the open window in the hall. Downstairs, the muffled voices of neighbors, the postal carrier and street traffic drift inside.

He waits till I invite him, and then comes in. I take one look at his face--I think he is about to burst into tears! I ask him if he'd like a can of mint tea--my stock from the Whole Foods run I'd just done two days ago. He seems confused, then, thanks me and slips to the floor. I rush to get the cold drink...I don't need a stranger sprawled unconscious on the loft floor two days before I move out...

Most of the furniture is gone. He props himself against an empty wall. He takes the tea gratefully, still seeming to be upset. But,taking a breath, he looks around, begins asking, for the form, if I am moving.

"Out--to the Boston area-- " I smile, knowing it's an easier explanation than Gardner.

He shakes his head. "So many customers in Santa Monica, in Malibu, in Beverly Hills--they all moving back East...so many..." then his voice cracks and I can tell this man is totally stressed.

He's about to lose it in front of me.

"Look, it's so hot outside...I don't have any air up here, but just take some tea and relax a minute...you are right on time...I'm so happy you came!" I reach out and touch his shoulder, lightly, with respect. I don't know what else to do.

He takes a breath, re-arranges into a full lotus position, then smiles, just a bit.

He looks around what's left in the loft and sees my tiny Tibetan prayer flags, hanging right above where I've tacked the flight confirmation.

"Are you Budhist?" he asks, quietly.

"No, but I am a student of the Buddha--and I have monk and nun friends who are..." I smile back, feeling this "corny" sense of a wave of peace flowing between us--as if someone turned on an air conditioner and made the loft suddenly bearable.

I have to wonder if it is just too, too California, and I'm moving through some absurd reality, or if this is a real lucid moment...before I can talk myself out of it, he pipes up:

He says this is the first time anyone in five years has offered him a chance to sit down for a minute, before unhooking the cables...let alone offer him tea....usually they are suspicious when he knocks on their door or thinks he is coming for money..."I don't even get paid a regular wage! I just collect the boxes and bring them in--sometimes people just throw the boxes at me! Sometimes they break and I get blamed!" his voice rises again. The tears are fought back.

"Maybe because I'm moving... it's just so hot out there...besides, you're on time! I'm thrilled you showed up!" I sit back, wishing I was as comfortable looking as he was in that position.

"What airline are you taking? Jet Blue? To JFK? I worked for United, till 9-11; then they released everybody that looked like me..." he dropped his head against his chest,his hands in his lap.

"Didn't the union help you?" I asked, knowing the probable answer. I just didn't want him to cry.

"So many people let go...only the seniors kept...like now...so many people...living day to day...even me...I have a fourteen year old daughter...I just work, feed her, keep her in school...and drive drive drive with all these angry people in this city...so many people so messed up...twisted tight...like springs...why so many angry people in this city?!"

"I ask myself the same thing," I answer, suddenly shocked that this Asian man has the same issues, exactly, as me...and now he is sitting in the middle of my loft, cross legged, with an iced tea , fighting heat exhaustion!

We go on to speak of Obama, of Arnold and Maria in Sacramento, of the percentages of unemployed that represent to us "real people", whereas in the halls of power, they remain only hills and valleys on print outs...we speak of people needing to quiet their minds in order to clean their hearts...we discuss the life the Buddha led...how he, too, after many travels, had to return home, to share what he knew with his family, too...how we are both missing "home".

He left his family in the Pacific Northwest and came here because of his daughter and whatever relationship that cast her with him ...he, too, longs for peace and somewhere it is less crazed.

Our eyes finally connect and it is like a dream: I know this man (of all the cable guys in this city), came here, and like the guy who installed my computer hook-up and spoke to me of his family crossing the border from Mexico, this conversation I was having,on the floor of the loft, over iced tea, at this end of the journey, was supposed to happen--we were being human for and with each other--simple as that--exchanging heartspace in a respectful, way that humans are supposed to do. Here was this man who was so much more than a cable guy...who loved his daughter enough to leave his own family and reclaim her in a city that was tearing him up. He was making minimum wage, no benefits, had been spit out after fourteen years with a huge corporation, had a clear take on the economy and what was being done to so many of us and also, at his core, knew the answers to his own head and heart pangs..."to find someplace of peace"...."

"People are supposed to take care of each other; people are supposed to not need all the medications, all the pills that keep us crazy; people need to be kind, compassionate, be more than animals...so much more..." he finally stopped the stream of words and just breathed again, deeply.

Then, he bowed, in a little Buddhist way, to me. I bowed back, without self-consciousness nor feeling like a great imposter--this WAS the real deal.. This was the perfect moment in the loft.

Maybe everything had been leading up to simply this.

He rose, again, almost tearing up, taking his tea, his tools, and repeating that this was the first time such a meeting on the job had occurred. Then, he told me, he sends blessing ,to my mother.

It was my turn to tear up. I cleared my throat and said,"Have you ever thought, Tang, that maybe, just maybe, you are so much more than a cable guy?"

His eyes lit up like smokey fire..."I will think about that...thank you. Travel well."

Tang Heng, I believe you.

Namaste.