Tattoo Man

Image by AMagill via Flickr

They laugh over there, leaning against the metal chairs, and blowing smoke into the air. They represent our culture. The tattoos in blue curl up his forearm. His friend talks about some sex site and laughs as if women like property exist for their pleasure, demoting a beautiful act meant for marriage to something jaded and cheap. A shared private joke makes them laugh together.

I can smell their smoke drifting invisible to our table and the warm sun presses down on my dark shirt. I cup my mug and try to sip the exotic grind untainted by the smoke. His friend has a small round container in his lap and he drags his finger through it. Another friend rides his bicycle to their table and stops to laugh with them.

“It’s hot out here.” My husband grimaces.

We move inside and find a seat near the window, but we didn’t move because of them. Encounters like that only help to form characters for future books in my mind. My husband starts talking about baseball and his day yesterday. A bird flies into the window distracting us. Tattoo man lounges, inhaling his long cigarette. His feet rest on the opposite chair. We can no longer hear their conversation.

I look at my husband and feel joy. The sunlight catches the gold off my ring. We’re sitting in a coffee shop on my lunch hour, basking in the mutual love and admiration for each other, and borrowing some of the peace from the day. We leave tattoo man in his cloud of smoke and wander back to work glad that I invited Christ into my life.

Describe why you are glad that Christ is in your life.