I was on Duval today, because I’m on Duval every day, usually, and stopped in an art gallery because the a/c is ice cold, I like to look at the art on display, and also make the sales people, who like to be called consultants, cringe with my every-day-ness.
I was studying a piece. It was sailboats. About half the art painted on Key West is sailboats. About half is chickens. And about a third represents something my brain cannot figure out.
Anyway, back to the sailboats. The one in the painting was named “Callie Marie” and I was thinking about that. We have a Callie, who’s not a Marie, but still, there seemed like a connection across time, somehow.
The boat was in a marina, evening light, because that’s something Key West does exceptionally well, and I noticed the lines (ropes to my friends in the midwest) were not coiled on deck.
So I was wondering if the artist was a sailor or not. A consultant, seemingly about twelve years old, with a polished, squeaky voice, appeared at my elbow with a silver tray and a glass of water on it.
“That’s a wonderful piece by Sebastian, isn’t it?” he opened the discussion. “I thought you might like some water on such a hot day.”
I did my classic imitation of someone who knows what’s happening and responded in kind, taking the glass. “Thanks. Who’s Sebastian?”
Behind the ivy league education, the youngster’s eyes flickered with the training that only comes from being raised by dedicated servants. “Claude Angus Sebastian. He was a noted artist from the last century. Some of his best work was done around the time he created this piece. This was done during his time in Paris, in the mid eighties.”
“I have a friend named Callie,” I said, sipping and looking around.
My consultant looked uncomfortable, sensing that perhaps this wasn’t going to be his big commission day after all.
“I like boats,” I continued, trying to extend the olive branch.
“Both notable aspects of your experience,” he responded. “Please feel free to review our displays. If you have questions, I’ll be working over there.” He nodded at a desk with no papers, no computers, no drawers, and no pens or pencils. And no dust. He offered his tray as a table for my glass.
I slurped down the remaining bits, getting most of it inside, and set the glass on his tray. It seemed like our orbits were separating.
“Thanks for the drink.” I wiped away some dribbles and smiled the smile of the peasant class. I winked, conveying that I was on to his little game of hospitality and social grace.
“I’m Millie. What’s your name?”
“I am Sebastian. It has been an honor, Mrs. Millie.” He moved away while I was processing, because more than one ordinary thing at a time tends to pop breakers in my head.
Some time later, on the walk home, I found more questions than answers. Some days are like that. Assumptions and bias are things that I run into a lot in my line of work.
But I still like boats. And coiled lines.
When I think up some nice things to say, I’ll go try to find Sebastian again. Maybe our orbits can merge more perfectly next time. And maybe I’ll learn something new. Maybe I’ll take Callie to see her boat.
-Mills
Millie, the gallery’s polished rituals and your deliberate everydayness create a social collision, then Sebastian’s name quietly turns the scrutiny toward the assumptions moving in both directions. You entered expecting to unsettle the consultants and left wondering what you may have projected onto him, which allows the humor to mature into curiosity. The sailboat, the uncoiled lines, and Callie keep the encounter rooted in the ordinary details that can open an unexpected route toward another person. Grateful for the wit and self-awareness with which you let a cold room, a glass of water, and one imperfect conversation become an invitation to look again.
I resonated with your callida juntura, “because more than one ordinary thing tends to pop breakers in my head,” Millie. I gained mass as the vibration of my mind molecules stiffened. Brava!