lucyoncolorado

In which my husband and my fear of time paradox interrupt my date with Tom Waits...

I’m standing on a street corner, well dressed for the fall in knee-high leather boots, a woolen skirt and a sweater with my hair curled pin-up style. I’m waiting for my date to pick me up.

A maroon 1970 Oldsmobile Cutlass with a cream colored canvass retractable roof pulls up beside me. I open the passenger door and look down the long vinyl front seat to the driver who is crouched over the steering wheel like a vulture. He’s wearing black jeans and is turning to look at me from beneath a bowler hat. It’s a young Tom Waits.

“Are you C--?” he asks.

“That’s me,” and I slide in, shutting the door behind me. He’s excited as he drives and says we’re going to a restaurant he knows that is unique. I’m a little star-struck but also confused.

“Don’t you have a wife, Tom?” I ask, thinking of his famously successful marriage to Kathleen Brennan.

“Not yet,” he answers. “It’s only 1978.” Ah, of course. I’ve time-traveled again. This must mean that I’m dreaming. I gain lucidity for a moment, but then I get lost in the implications of time-paradoxes. I start to worry that if I alter the course of historical events so that Tom and Kathleen don’t marry, then I could wake up to a world without Swordfishtrombones and Mule Variations. Dinner with Tom Waits isn’t worth that risk.

Just as I’m about to protest, he parks the car and we get out to walk around a field of giant tulips. Butterflies fly around above our heads and then swoop down to circle us. The tulips are easily eight feet tall, and Tom Waits explains that the flowers grow so high here because the sun is closer to the earth at this spot. I look up in the sky and see that the sun is a massively huge yellow and orange swirl. Its spiraling rays seem to touch the ground. We start walking along a path towards a tower in the distance that is a mosaic of pieces of colorful glass bottles, marbles and bicycle rims. Its windows are stained glass like a cathedral.

“That’s the restaurant,” Tom tells me. He starts to tell me the history of the tulip park, how it was discovered and how the restaurant owners grow all their own food here. He’s very excited about all this and keeps stopping along the path to point at something or wave his arms around, caught up in his narrative. I’m delighted.

But then my husband suddenly appears. He is surprised to see me here. I introduce him to Tom Waits. Both men are polite to one another but obviously it is awkward. My husband looks at me, puzzled and a little hurt. I feel guilty, but my immediate concern is how to save face. After some platitudes, my husband says he’ll be on his way. Tom politely asks if he’d like to join us for dinner, and my husband accepts.

We continue our stroll towards the restaurant as a trio, but it is obvious that Tom Waits is feeling awkward and confused. The moment is ruined. I feel deeply embarrassed. I ask Tom to excuse us for a minute and I step aside with my husband. I consider the problem. I want to complete the date, but I also want to protect my happy marriage. Trying to think of a solution, I realize again that I’m dreaming. Armed with this lucidity, I tell me husband to leave. He looks sad, but I explain that I will not feel guilty about it because it is only a dream. My husband turns around to walk down the path away from us. I continue on with Tom Waits, but I’m not having fun anymore and the lucidity is lost once again.

Tom and I walk in awkward silence for a little while, and I realize that he is only being polite now. He no longer has any real interest in taking me to the restaurant. Also, I’m worried that I’ve damaged my marriage. So I tell Tom that it was not meant to be- too many time paradoxes and spouses to carry on. He agrees, relieved that he doesn’t have to go through the charade of taking me to the restaurant. And I run down the path after my husband.