Birthmarks

In the mid 1990s I visited a friend in San Jose, CA. We were in our thirties. She was married. I had a boyfriend who looked a little like her husband except my boyfriend had two small children from his first marriage. They were both six feet tall, had dark curly hair, wore wire rimmed glasses and seemed to have ideals based on the practical. They liked each other but I was visiting by myself while my boyfriend spent time with west coast relatives.


After experiencing silicon valley in the form of watching my friend stay up until 3:00 a.m. working on graphics for a news program, the two of us drove four hours north to the Napa Valley to stay at a posh campground owned by a woman who believed she was Cleopatra reincarnated. We planned to take a tour of a vineyard, go to a spa and have some time to talk for a few days.

Cleopatra reincarnated seemed to be borrowing from other cultures with an array of tent cabins in the form of tee pees and yurts. Our tee pee had wood floors and comfortable cots with welcome mints and mini bottles of champagne.

Before turning in we took a walk just across the road from the campground where there was a dirt path leading into corn on both sides of the path. While walking we talked about the importance of being ready to break up with someone who is not ready to commit. Before my friend married her husband, she had moved to California from her home in NYC only to experience him being comfortable with the live-in arrangement. After two years and a lot of arguing she packed up her bags ready to move back to NYC.

“I had a plane ticket. Then he finally said he loved me and wanted to marry me.”

“Did you see 'Children of the Corn',” I said as the sun began to set among the corn stalks.

“Of course. You know I love Steven King.”

We walked in silence for a few moments.

“There's a beat up looking pick-up truck up ahead,” I pointed out

“So.”

“This isn't something I pictured in the Napa Valley.”

“California is kind of a mixture.”

“A mixture of what?”

“There's people in the truck,” she said.

I could see three heads equidistant in the front seat.

“Why do you think they're just sitting there?”

“What if they're waiting for us?”

We crossed the street and ran past the truck staying low and close to the corn.   As we were running I saw the movie of ourselves as common people energized by a dangerous situation. There was no telling what might happen and of what we were capable. I couldn't help but take a peak as we ran past. I saw three men sitting as still as statues probably watching us run like fools in a police drama. The man sitting closest to the window had a birthmark large enough to see on the side of his neck.

“The dirt road ends at the end of the corn field. I've been here before,” my friend yelled out of breath with a tinge of panic.

“Will we be there before it gets dark.”

“We're almost there.”

We slowed to a jog more confident that the truck was away from us and hadn't moved. Feeling safe we began walking until we could see the end of the dirt road and the beginning of our quasi spiritual campground. Then we heard wheels on gravel gliding with the engine off. Even though my heart pounded and I was sure we would no longer have the privilege of worrying about boyfriends or husbands, only the birthmark looked at us as the truck glided past and the three quiet men stared out the front window. The right blinker went on when the truck reached the intersection of the main road. I looked at my friend.

“Our campground is on the left,” she said.

We ate breakfast the next morning in the lodge where you could also find out about the schedule of activities for that day. A visit to the small Egyptian meditation temple and a hug from the declawed ocelot was enough for us before taking off for other activities.

First we went to the spa where I was packed in mud, wrapped in herbs, washed in warm minerals and massaged by someone who talked too much. We floated to our tour of the wine vineyard where we strolled among gentle hills, learned about weather conditions and different kinds of barrels. After tasting some of the wine, we were invited by the wine pourer into the exclusive wine tasting room where three thirty something men enjoyed explaining the different kinds of mid priced wines in great detail while pouring as much as we wanted. My friend entertained them with her quick sense of humor as I slowly sipped the first taste and watched.

A small bit of red stained skin peeked up over a high collar until one of our hosts took off his jacket revealing a birthmark on the same side as the man sitting by the window of the battered pick-up in the corn field. Impossible, I thought. These men are gregarious and talking about grapes not corn.

Eventually, I felt flirtatious, less concerned about the birthmark and relaxed enought to buy a couple bottles of wine I hadn't previously believed I could afford.  We then went out for dinner at a restaurant that served on an outdoor wedding cake white decorated patio.  For dessert, I remember the tiramisu that delighted me with its fluffy cloud like texture and flavor as satisfying as sunshine.