Paul Rabinowitz
The Origin of Names
in-between seconds on my way to work I stop in at a local roastery to order a cappuccino-to-go when an exchange takes place difficult for me to explain
I approach the heavy wood counter notice a brightly-colored ceramic mug crafted by the hands of an artist on a spinning wheel it is waiting there with white foam and concentric rings swirling in warm patterns of creamy-beige
I have to arrive at work early to get the designated parking spot set aside for university faculty so I can avoid long walks through the tree-lined campus
I look down at my watch notice the time and the need to leave the roastery as soon as possible to avoid traffic and snag that parking spot and prepare the lesson for my creative writing class in-between a staff meeting and a zoom call then I’ll run to the xerox machine to make 24 copies for my students of the 12-page speculative fiction story about serendipitous encounters with three women all with similar scars above their brow written by an author whose name eludes me
a perfect prompt to teach how we writers must observe these encounters for inspiration and write about the in-between moments and how our minds relate to repetition within the imaginative realm
I look up from my wristwatch and gaze at the nonchalant inquisitive way the barista who wears a necklace with the name Lucia engraved on it stands watching me but not staring at me as if waiting for me to say something about the cappuccino in the brightly-colored ceramic mug
I inhale and ask for a to-go cup while Lucia nods her head in the direction of an empty table and I think about the last time I sat to drink at a roastery before I started my full-time professorship and would rise early head there and write short stories
but these days I no longer have time to write except for a few bad poems about love and discontent that I keep posting on social media so it appears to my colleagues I am writing and occasionally I tease my followers and post about a novel which will be coming soon about a chance meeting in-between moments that will change the main character’s perspective forever
and I ask again for a to-go cup and emphasize I am a professor and I am going to prepare a lesson about how the subconscious places moments of encounters into the conscious to create speculative stories—fiction of course
Lucia swivels the I-pad towards me I tap my card and at that moment something happens as her eyes open wide as if a secret has been revealed she asks if I am familiar with the origin of my name
my conscious mind wants to ignore the question and insist I have no time for these trivial matters as I am a professor and already running late to prepare a lesson about observations and encounters of in-between moments
but for some reason I tell her I think Paul means
least or little of humble origins seeking redemption through forms of transformation
the muscles in her face tighten and she asks if the meaning of the name is true of me
sensing the growing line of patrons behind me I remove a dollar from my wallet to drop into the tip bucket as she leans over the counter tucks a mass of untamed curls behind her ears I notice a scar in-between her eyebrow and hairline
loud grunts from patrons behind me grow louder as seconds tick away I place my trigger finger in-between the loop handle of the bright ceramic mug that is not mine stand my ground and meet her eyes half-way inhale then ask if she knows the origin of her name
just light she says handing me my cappuccino the shadows around her eyes disappear as the sun penetrates the streaked windows there are tiny streaks of red in her hair the angry patrons press into me
Lucia rises up from the heavy wood counter straightens her back as I walk slowly past the crowd to an empty table with my to-go cup
open my laptop feel the blood in my body settle as she touches the folded skin above her eye glances over at me in-between orders as I type the opening lines of my novel
