Romantic Label

Brandon Figliolino

The “Romantic” Label

February 1, 2015

                                                                              I. 

            In the lovely coastal city of Laguna Beach, California, the major mode of transportation—aside from walking and surfing—is the local trolley fleet. The old-timey trolleys feature wooden benches with high backs, brass hand poles, and an open-aired cabin. Painted vibrant shades of blue and red, they are functional pieces of art.

            During my family’s vacation to seaside California, we frequented the trolley service. We’d jump on, night or day, and watch the beaches and eclectic buildings pass. The city of Laguna Beach is full of fascinating architecture. No two buildings are alike. That made the trolley rides all the more fun. I’d sit alongside my brother and sister, pointing out breathtaking views, like the one atop Thousand-Step Beach, and the historic lifeguard tower on Main Beach. With such an eclectic mix of shops and art studios, the trolley trips granted all of us the chance to spot something we hadn’t seen before. Little by little, the back-and-forth helped shape our view of Laguna Beach.

            On our trolley rides, people also gave us entertainment. At night, we’d pass bonfires. In the daylight, surfers could be seen doing tricks on the water. Volleyball tournaments formed on the beaches, and there were even some musicians that complemented the dinging of the trolley bell. But most entertaining of them all were the artists the trolley passed. Many were painters capturing the hillside. There were caricaturists and sculptors on the sidewalks, too. The city of Laguna Beach offered so much for my family’s eyes to see, no one ever paid any attention to what was happening inside the trolley during our rides.

            Except for one night, when the events unfolding inside the trolley piqued our curious glances more than the anything going on outside the metal shell.

            Prior to boarding, my family and I loitered at a trolley stop outside the Sawdust Arts Festival, a fairground for the creative minds. Glassblowers gave demonstrations, and artists of all ages and talents showcased their passions. There was even an outdoor food court with a live band. It was quite a sight; a perfect date-night for couples.

Located inland, nestled in between tall, gently sloped hills, the festival was a ways out of town, and a good twenty minute ride back to my aunt and uncle’s house. At the trolley stop, I stood near my parents, who claimed the bench as their resting spot. The moon was in full view; the sky was filled with vibrant stars instead of murky clouds.

Others who had enjoyed the festival made their way to the large waiting area. Most were parents with kids. It was nine forty-five, and many were weary eyed, ready for bed. They all conversed in their respective groups, patiently awaiting the greeting bell of the trolley.

Two young men walked up to the trolley schedule posted on a pole not far from where my family congregated. One pulled his hand out of his coat pocket and used the tip of his finger to trace the departure schedule. He found the trolley he was looking for, and did a double-take. He removed his other hand from its spot in his pocket and pulled out his phone, just to make sure he wasn’t wrong.

“Shouldn’t the trolley be here by now?” he asked a woman nearby who was holding her baby.

She nodded. “It’ll be here any minute, I’m sure.” She scooted over. “Take a seat for now, if you’d like.”

The two men complied and began conversing with the woman and her husband. I looked back at my family. My brother sat on the bench near my parents, admiring the tiger photograph he’d procured at the festival. My parents sat still, holding hands, looking up at the thickets of trees on the hillside. As for my sister, she stood with her arms crossed, shaking from the cold.

Cold it was. Even though it was July, the breeze that blew in from the sea left the air at night bitter. I stuffed my hands deeper into my coat pockets and watched my breath dissipate when I exhaled.

While my family sat silent, small outbursts of laughter came from the young men and the young couple down a ways. I turned to investigate. One of the men looked over at me. I smiled and went back to focusing my eyes on the ground, breathing in and out, trying to ignore the temperature drop.

Ten minutes passed, and there still wasn’t a trolley in sight. I eyed the group of people on the nearby bench. The man who had looked up at bus schedule earlier pulled out his phone.

“It’s getting really late.” He turned to his friend. “Think you’d be up for a walk? We can catch the trolley at the next stop.”

He nodded. “That works for me. I could use a good walk, anyways.”

Both rose. The first reached out and grabbed the second’s hand. He turned to the couple with the baby and smiled.

“Thanks for the company,” he said, giving a slight wave with his free hand.

“We’ll see you at the next stop,” the woman smiled. Then, the men were off.

My eyes followed them while they walked away. From their previous mannerisms, I hadn’t a clue they were in a relationship until they held hands. It startled me.      

            My sister broke my trance. “It’s so cold! We should just walk home.”

            Nodding, I agreed. “They’re going to the next stop.” I pointed to the couple off in the distance. “It might be a shot.”

            “We’ll wait a few more minutes,” my father said. 

To be continued...