Shoulder Ship

I only caught a glimpse of it that first time, in the cafe. When I’d handed him that latte, he had turned away to go to the front door, and there it was, on his right shoulder. A beautiful sailing ship, crashing through waves, indomitably exploring the ocean’s unknown reaches.

But then he was gone, back out the door and the next customer was impatiently watching for me to choose the wrong type of milk in their latte. It was a good thing I’d been doing this barista gig for so long because it came naturally, it was automatic, it was without conscious thought. My conscious thoughts were swirling around the challenge of “How can I get another look at that shoulder?”

My shift ended late that night. People had been lined up right to closing time, and then there was all the cleanup time. I was happy, though, to have a pocket full of tip money. It had been shared out among all of us on deck, as usual. Apparently there had been some kind of classical music concert down the block that evening, and from the time it got out out place was packed. And the people, being in a good mood and well-entertained, and maybe a bit tipsy from intermission, had been generous with their tips. The cash tips were divided up and handed out before everyone left for the night. The electronic tips – thank God for the iPad system, because most people felt guilty if they clicked on “no tip” – went straight into our paychecks.

I smelled like coffee. It seemed like I always smelled like coffee. That’s why I usually showered when I got back to the apartment – the place I shared with two other women, each of us trying to scrape together enough savings to find a place of our own. Even tonight, at the late hour, after the bus ride, I showered. The image of the sailing ship on the shoulder came back to mind. I let it bob there, on the waves, as the hot water pounded on me, first from the stern, then from the bow.

Next day, I raced from the apartment building to campus, ducking through the lecture room door just after the class began. I’d overslept again, of course. It was pretty much impossible to burn this candle at both ends. The wick was only half an inch long from front to back by this point! Thankfully the class was huge and the lecturer would certainly not notice my late entrance, any more than he noticed the late entrances of a few other late sleepers.

I found a chair, settled in, opened my laptop, and began listening. It was a psychology class, a class I was required to take. Sometimes it was interesting, but many times I drifted off. If caught, I’d be ready with an explanation that I was considering how best to apply the psychology principles to my next customer.

From there I walked to another class, this one in my major: history. I almost always enjoyed these lectures. I would say that I thoroughly enjoyed them, except that the weight of the reading list somewhat dampened the thoroughness of the enjoyable part. Still…

As it turned out, the lecturer spent the hour recounting how transportation advances had changed the world in just 100 years. Between 1500 and 1600, the world known to Europeans doubled in size! And, after all, Europe was the only part of the world expanding outward by exploration. And it kept going like that.

The first phase of expansion depended on sailing ships. As soon as he said this, my mind flipped over to the other track. Sailing ships! I was fascinated by sailing ships, on so many levels. But on this day, like the evening before, my fascination was mostly on the physical level.

The day wore on. Class after class. A lunch break which didn’t work out since I’d run from the apartment poorly prepared. Then it was time to take the bus to work again.

Riding along, I was exhausted. There had been nothing all day to wake me up. The alarm clock hadn’t done it. Somehow my brain had gotten the rest of me to slide my feet out from under the covers and my arms to lift me off the sheet. Then, and only then, had I flashed on the time and realized class was about to begin. Now, on the bus, the opposite was happening. Everything in me below the neck wanted to go back to sleep. Only the brain was telling me, over and over, “Stay awake! He might be there again!”

And he was.

“Tell me about your tattoo,” I said as I handed him a latte like the one from the evening before.

“Huh?” he said, looking up at me. “How’d you know…”

“You had a sleeveless shirt on last night,” I explained.

“Oh, yeah.” Then he smiled.

It was a nice smile. It was an “I’ll wait to see when you get off duty” kind of smile.

I smiled back.

Copyright 2021 by William Altmann, all rights reserved.