Welcome back to The Circular Journey, a blog as soothing as the popular bird songs of the 1980s, as satisfying as a peanut butter and apple-slice sandwich, and as pleasing overall as a shopping mall chair massage.
I was awakened last Sunday morning by one who's been with me for as long as I can remember. One in whom I can depend. One who will never leave or forsake me--tinnitus--that loud, unwavering ringing in my ear. It will be with me until the end of time.
The Wonder and I had come to Holden Beach, arriving at low tide. She wished to add to her collection of fossilized sea biscuits. If you're unfamiliar with those forty-million-year-old relics, never mind, not germane.
"How did you two meet?" asked the Cafe Ahora barista who had locked her keys in her jeep and with no one else in the coffee shop, had nothing else to do except talk to us.
“Well, that’s a rather long story,” I replied, leaning back in my chair, as though preparing to launch into an epic.
“I’m sure it is,” she said, her wide-eyed gaze sparkling with interest.
And so, without hesitation, I took a deep breath, exhaled as theatrically as I could muster, and began.
“It was the year Bluebottle won the Lafayette championship,” I said, with a wistful air.
“Bluebottle?” she interrupted, tilting her head.
“A racehorse, " said the Wonder.
“That’s right,” I said. “It all happened in Lafayette, Louisiana, so it had to have been sometime in the 1980s.”
“Those were exciting times,” said Ms. Wonder knowingly, as though she had personally experienced every neon-drenched moment of the decade. It was an impressive thought for someone who was a mere whisp of a girl back then.
“Exciting times,” I agreed.
I paused as if carefully assembling the tale in my mind. I wasn't, of course. The pause gave me time to think of what came next--I was making it up as I went along. Suddenly, I remembered a line I'd heard in a sitcom.
"The sea was angry that day, my friend," I declared, feeling it was just the thing to grab attention. I wasn't thinking only of the barista but Wonder, too. After all, she'd heard it all before, and it seemed only right to mix in a few new details she's never heard.
“What does the sea have to do with it?” asked the barista, with a furrowed brow. I didn't like the change of expression.
“It’s just a line from Seinfeld that I've always liked. George Costanza said it. He was a marine biologist and it seemed to work for him.”
“I’m pretty sure George wasn’t a marine biologist,” said Ms. Wonder, with the confidence reserved for people who've spent too much time binging ’90s sitcoms.
“No, you’re right—he wasn’t,” I said, with a forced chuckle, hoping to keep it light. “But he said he was, to impress a girl."
Then, addressing the barista again, I said, "It’s a thing men do sometimes. You know--lie.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “To impress a girl?”
“Exactly. A noble tradition as old as time,” I assured her, though it was difficult to stifle the grin.
“I’m confused,” admitted the barista, tilting her head like a bird considering a shiny object.
A storyteller’s greatest fear isn’t being questioned about the details—it’s losing their audience. And while one person doesn’t make a crowd, the principle is the same.
“What I’m trying to say,” I clarified, “is that the story of how we met doesn’t paint me in the most flattering light. I was simply trying to dress it up a little, make it more interesting.”
“I have no doubt I’ll be impressed,” she said. “So, how about you tell it without the embellishments?”
Well, after that, how could I hold back?
“It was a dark and stormy night,” I began before her exasperated look stopped me mid-sentence.
“Fine, fine,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Here’s the unvarnished truth...”
When I finished, the barista had a wistful look in her eye. She was probably wondering if she'd ever be part of a love story like that of Ms. Wonder and me. And she wasn't the only one impressed.
"Thank you, for all those sweet words," Ms. Wonder said. I’m happy we work together so well on our creative visions. You’re not just my life partner, you're my best..."
"Hold it right there, Wonder," I said, like a traffic cop holding up a hand to stop runaway traffic. "You're about to say 'best friend,' and nothing good ever comes of that. Too much pressure. The stakes are absurdly high."
"I was going to say, collaborator," she replied. "I treasure our time together and look forward to many more years."
"You're the treasure," I said, striking a tone suitable for a romantic epic.
"No, you are," said the Wonder, quickly picking up on my intention.
"No, Wonder, you are," I insisted leaning in to add topspin to the effect, "and I'll always be here for you."
"Well, alright," she said. "If you insist, I'm the treasure."
"That's m'baby!" I said. It was a nice finish, I thought. How about you? Do you approve? Not too overdone, I hope?