I like to go to a coffeeshop and read, write and draw as much as I can each day. It’s a luxury I appreciate, having the time and freedom to do this while caring for my 91 year old mother back at home.
A few months ago I was drawing at the barista counter, and I can literally smell someone looking over my shoulder. It’s a flowery perfume, and it’s strong. Sure enough it’s a wide-eyed girl, and she’s pointing at my drawing.
“That looks like a print!”
“Thank you!” I slide my book over so she can see better.
She repeats, “It looks like a print!”
She’s astonished, and I’m flattered.
“Did you draw that?”
“Yes. I drew these too!” Turning the pages back.
“Know who John Prine is? haha!”
“Haha, who? No.”
“No one’s heard of him. How about David Lynch?” showing her the drawing.
She looked blank. “No.”
“That’s alright. He’s kinda obscure. How about Bill Murray?”
“No.”
I’m shocked. I thought everyone knew who Bill Murray was. A few of the baristas were listening, amused.
“Christ, I’m old. How old are you?”
“22.”
I start paging further back in my book. “Amy Winehouse? Aubrey Plaza? She was in the TV show Parks and Recreation.”
“No, no” shaking her head “I never heard of that show.”
“Kurt Cobain? He was in a rock band Nirvana.”
“No. Never heard of them.”
“Do you know who Joe Biden is?”
“I know who Joe Biden is.” Rolling her eyes.
“Oh, how about David Bowie. Everyone knows David Bowie.”
“Oh! He was in Labyrinth!”
“Yes! That’s David Bowie” as I’m showing the drawing on my phone. “He was also the singer in a rock band.”
“Oh was he?” She didn’t know that about David Bowie.
I’m about done. I knew of no-one more famous than Bowie whom I’ve drawn. In fact I had to sit for a while to think of anyone famous she’d for sure know.
“Taylor Swift.”
“I know her! Did you draw her?”
“No.”
I was done. “So what’s your name?”
She tells me but it’s in one ear and right out the other. I’m still stewing over it all, trying to end the pain.
“Well I’m Bob. I’m 56. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
“If you wanna see more people you don’t know that I’ve drawn” I give her my card. “Come back any time.”
“Oh I will!”
I pull my book back to the page I’m working on, and everyone around is greatly entertained. I bemoan my relevance in this world and have a profound reality check.
A couple weeks later I’m here at the same spot, drawing, and there’s that smell again, in the same spot over my shoulder. Fragrance memory brings it all back instantly. That I’m-no-longer-relevant feeling.
“Oh hi! I remember you. I forgot your name.”
She tells me again.
“I forgot yours too. Is it, Greg?”
“No. Bob. Normal Bob.”
Then she points and says “That’s my dad!”
I look to my left and there’s a man’s face about a foot away from mine. He’s leaning forward on the counter looking me dead in the eye. “I’m her father. That’s my daughter.” He has an intense glare, face red with forehead veins bulging. Short, neatly cut grey hair like a Marine, or Christian youth leader. And he looked exactly my age, except exceptionally more conservative.
“I’m Bob. Normal Bob.” I turn the pages back a few and show him my Acid Trip Couch drawing.
“That’s what he was working on when I was here last!”
I lean back so they can see. I’m sandwiched between them both. He looks for a long moment, taps his finger on it and says, “Looks like R. Crumb.”
“I know who R. Crumb is!” I proclaim as he walks away.
He goes and sits at the other side of the cafe and looks down at whatever he’s got there. She’s looking at me grinning from ear to ear delighted that her dad and I got to finally meet.
“It was nice to see you again. I’m going to get back to drawing now.”
“Nice to meet you too!” And she goes over to her dad. As she’s walking away I’m noticing for the first time how she’s dressed. She’d been behind me every time. She’s wearing a black mini skirt, heels and a tight top. She’s got tattoos up and down her legs, rockabilly style. Small ones scattered about. And as she walking to her dad he’s there in a chair looking like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown.