Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I got the tale in '85 on the phone. Betty and I hadn't spoken for years, till the day of
our psychic reunion, a phenomenon extraordinary only to those with routine lives, which,
they say, last a long time, which is great if you like routine. Surrounded by chitchat and 2%
double macchiatos, hold the foam, hold the cinnamon but one light-medium shake of the
dark chocolate sprinkles, and make that a grandé, I did not think of Betty.
Staring into a motherfucking cup of black coffee felt perfect for soaking up sensations: no
wind, no waves, no sun, no spray, no tourist questions and no impending consequence.
Movement in the periphery vanished on a glance. The aerie faerie crowd will tell you that
spirits, nymphs, gnomes, leprechauns,
menehunes
and many elfin creatures frolic in the peri-
phery. A cloud drifted by, a talk bubble like the lyrical array of Led Zeppelin II on New Year's
Eve of '69 on late lift of. We'd been warned of acid flashback—hallucination or reality warp
could revisit any time. Polite media profiled flashback as a hazard for the duration of life, but
the experienced saw flashback as a bonus, like a trailer of a great movie showing the best bits.
Maybe the coffee shop talk bubble drifting out front was a flashback. After spin-cycle at
sea and life, the flashback felt easy. It said:
Betty Boop
.
The words wobbled into focus with bumps and wrinkles, perhaps a warning of what svelte
coeds come to—but such a warning would only concern a sexist, soulless man.
I loved her.
I looked away.
I looked back, and it was gone. What a relief. I feared surface crazing and rigging failure.
It reappeared, floating over the crowd:
Betty Boop
.
So I wondered as men do, where she is now. Betty Boop stood out on many levels. She'd
chosen me as the recipient of her bounty. She'd treated me like the man I could only hope to
be.
I had errands and chores, but early that evening I tracked her down and made the call.
It was thirteen years since we last spoke, or fifteen, and caller I.D. was still years into the
future. When she picked up the phone I said, “Hey. What are you doing?”
“I can't believe you called.”
“Why shouldn't an old friend call?”
“You should call. You should have called years ago. No. Really. It's okay that you didn't. But
I was talking about you today. I don't mean casually. I talked about you for an hour.”
“About me?”
“To my shrink.”
