I Could Be Wrong, But…

Sometimes, I think about the Time-Space Continuum.

Like yesterday morning.

As I stood in line at my neighborhood cafü, the thin, dark haired woman in gray sweat shirt and pants ahead of me was having a conversation with the voluptuous, dyed-blonde barrista in a tight black tank top and tight black jeans. The two women were talking about a mutual friend.

The voluptuous dyed-blonde barrista said, "She's 26 and she's had like, you know, the same boyfriend since she was 16."

The dark haired woman used two syllables to say, "N-o."

The blonde barrista answered in two syllables, "Ye-ah." Then she continued, "I mean it's like I can never get her to hang out. She's just into her boyfriend."

"You know what it's like," the dark haired woman said, leaning over the counter. "You're in a relationship so deep your bodies just seem to move together."

The blonde barrista paused, thinking about that. "But ten years with the same guy?" She folded her arms under her full breasts and frowned. "She doesn't know what she's missing. You know."

The dark haired woman said, "Hey, if it works for her. You know."

There was a man in line behind me and I could feel his impatience. I glanced back and saw him frown at the two talking women. He shot a glance out the windows of the cafü, to a large white van that was illegally parked, then looked at the watch on his wrist, then frowned harder at the two still-talking women.

Although I really, really wanted my first uber-sized cup of black coffee of the day, I also really, really liked listening to the two women talk about their mutual friend's romantic fate. I envied how they adroitly examined and evaluated the pros and cons of finding—and sticking with—good love at age 16.

I confess I also liked watching the voluptuous dyed-blonde barrista because the tight black tank top she wore was very short and displayed an expanse of her round belly and the ski-slope curve of the small of her back and the swell of her ample hips—and all the tan skin exposed was adorned with a colorful tapestry of tattoos.

As the barrista slow-waltzed behind the counter, preparing an elaborate chocolate and coffee and cinnamon and whipped-cream concoction for the dark haired woman, I was mesmerized by the rising and falling and swaying tattoos on her belly and hips—and I began, very quietly, to sing the Groucho Marx version of the old song, Lydia the Tattooed Lady. (*Lyrics/download the song)

I could feel the guy behind me practically running in place with frustration—but I was happily entranced, watching the blonde barrista's swaying tattoos, and taking great delight in the way she and the dark haired woman embedded complex philosophical syllogisms in a meaning-laden rise and fall of intonation when they said the two words, "you know."

The guy in line behind me became a super-charged dark storm of tension. He kept shifting his feet, cracking his knuckles, looking out the windows at the illegally parked van, then back at the slow-motion dyed-blonde barrista and chatty dark haired woman.

At the same time I was repulsed by this guy, by his menacing, bristling energy, I also felt compassion for him. I thought, There, but for the grace of natural and nurtured indolence, go I.

Then the dark haired woman customer left the cafü. It was my turn. I stepped up to the counter. But instead of ordering my coffee I told the dyed-blonde barrista, "Your friend is lucky. Finding love at 16 is better than getting married and divorced three times."

The barrista didn't miss a beat. "My neighbor, his name is Lucky," she said. "This week he's getting married for the sixth time."

Having not had any coffee yet, I struggled to keep up with the barrista, and also struggled to keep my gaze from impolitely staring at the tattoos swirling around her belly button. I managed to say, "Um¾ Married six times? That can be expensive."

"Lucky has money. He collects disability or something. You know. And he owns his house and has all these guns and he has this really giant TV. My roommates and me can stand on our porch and see right through Lucky's front window and watch his TV, it's that big."

By this time, the impatient guy behind me was so crazily revved up with urgency—yet stifled by the threat of years in jail if he were to murder me or the dyed-blonde barrista—that I thought he might implode.

I could have cued the barrista to stop talking and dole out my coffee. But I didn't.

"So Lucky lives alone now?" I asked, banking that my leading question would propel the narrative-dispensing barrista into relating more tales from Lucky's World.

"Sometimes his son comes over. He watches the house when Lucky goes out of town. Lucky travels a lot. The son watches porn on the giant TV. My roommates and me we all go out on the porch and spy on him. It's a riot. When he hears us laughing he instantly changes the channel to a basketball game!"

The guy in line behind me shot out of the cafü.

The barrista and I turned to watch through the window as he jumped into the illegally parked white van—which is when I noticed the side of the big van was painted with the logo and slogan of a local easy-listening radio station—started the engine in a roar, and accelerated violently into his future.

The dyed-blonde barrista indifferently filled a large cup of black coffee for me. I put a dollar in her tip jar, took my coffee outside, found a seat under a big shade tree, sipped my coffee, still humming Lydia the Tattooed Lady, and thought about the Time Space Continuum.

Writers Monthly is hosting a party to celebrate the audacious, supremely self-involved, self-centered, self-sustaining and self-loving act of choosing to live in the here and now. Also known as Take Back Your Time Day.

You are invited to our party.

* Lydia the Tattooed Lady
Music by Harold Arlen. Lyrics by E.Y. Harburg
( Website where you can download:
Groucho singing Lydia the Tattooed Lady )

Oh Lydia, oh Lydia, say, have you met Lydia?

Lydia The Tattooed Lady.

She has eyes that folks adore so,

and a torso even more so.

Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclo-pidia.

Oh Lydia The Queen of Tattoo.

On her back is The Battle of Waterloo.

Beside it, The Wreck of the Hesperus too.

And proudly above waves the red, white, and blue.

You can learn a lot from Lydia!

La-la-la...la-la-la.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

When her robe is unfurled she will show you the world,

if you step up and tell her where.

For a dime you can see Kankakee or Paree,

or Washington crossing The Delaware.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

Oh Lydia, oh Lydia, say, have you met Lydia?

Lydia The Tattooed Lady.

When her muscles start relaxin',

up the hill comes Andrew Jackson.

Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclo-pidia.

Oh Lydia The Queen of them all.

For two bits she will do a mazurka in jazz,

with a view of Niagara that nobody has.

And on a clear day you can see Alcatraz.

You can learn a lot from Lydia!

La-la-la...la-la-la.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

Come along and see Buffalo Bill with his lasso.

Just a little classic by Mendel Picasso.

Here is Captain Spaulding exploring the Amazon.

Here's Godiva, but with her pajamas on.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

Here is Grover Whelan unveilin' The Trilon.

Over on the west coast we have Treasure Isle-on.

Here's Nijinsky a-doin' the rhumba.

Here's her social security numba.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

La-la-la...la-la-la.

Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclo-pidia.

Oh Lydia The Champ of them all.

She once swept an Admiral clear off his feet.

The ships on her hips made his heart skip a beat.

And now the old boy's in command of the fleet,

for he went and married Lydia!

I said Lydia...

(He said Lydia...)

They said Lydia...

We said Lydia, la, la!

>>Back to top<<

From San Diego Writers Monthly publishes California Writers, California authors, new writers, offering readers info on how to get published, from literary agents, writing coaches, San Diego editors on editing, self-publishing how-to, publishing chap books and short-run books, book doctors, ghost writers, San Diego authors events, interviews of writers, book reviews, free readings, book signings, free stories, online fiction, poetry workshops, free novels, free essays, free ideas, science fiction, humorous stories, rants, funny essays, copywriting, freelancing info, and musings about living on this lonely planet circling a lonely star.