Love song of an aging hippie

In the early spring last year I went to visit one of my two ex-wives at her townhouse in Pompano Beach. During the sunny blue days in Florida I biked, walked the beach and read by the pool, taking a dip whenever the heat moved me, while Suze was off on her new job as a writer for a local weekly newspaper.

Suze and I ate out every night, reliving old times with a longer, softer view, actually more comfortable with each other than when we were married. We laughed a lot, too, and were able to be honest in a way we hadn't when we lived together. There was nothing to lose now, and we weren't keeping score any more. We just enjoyed and appreciated each other.

One day I was wearing a tie-dyed tank top that Suze admired, and I told her that I'd bought it from an old hippie who sold them every summer at the flea market on the south end of the Wildwood boardwalk. I gave it to her when I left and said that I'd get another one. I actually looked forward to a new tank top, because this guy's tie-dyes were really cool. And for another old hippie like me, choosing one was like shopping for a work of art.

World's greatest job

I was on my morning boardwalk bike ride when the first flea market of the season opened, and there was my guy: skinny, bearded, pony-tailed, tanned like an Arab "“ and happy. When I'd bought the other tank top, what I'd remembered most was how happy he'd seemed, as if selling tie-dyed shirts was the world's greatest job.

I parked my bike along the rail and moseyed over to his booth. When he saw me, he gave me a big grin, held up his hand up for a high-five, and greeted me like a long lost friend:

"Hey, how've you been, man? Another year, right? Ain't it great, all this? Whattaya need?"

"Another tank top. I gave my ex-wife the other one."

"Great! Good for you! More blessed to give than to receive, you know? Help yourself. I dyed a fresh batch up just for you, babe. Look around. Take your time. We got the whole season, right?"

A proposition

I looked and then looked some more; they were all great, really cool. This old hippie was a tie-dying genius.

I must have had a stumped look on my face because he came over. " What's up, man?" he asked. "Can't make up your mind?"

"Yeah," I said. "I don't know. They're all great."

"Thanks, man. Hey, do you believe in magic?"

"I do, I answered. "Yeah. I do."

"You ever seen any? Any magic?"

"Actually, I have. Twice."

"Tell me," he said, moving closer. "Let me in on it."

"Well," I said, "once I was standing in my back yard and my cat brought a mouse and dropped it at my feet. The cat had been gentle with it and the mouse was still alive and it was so scared that it was trembling all over. Then, all of a sudden, it just went poof! and disappeared. Like it was so scared it made itself vanish. The cat looked up at me and looked all around and scratched at the grass like the mouse might be buried, but it was gone. Poof! Gone."

"Wow, cool! What else?"

"Once I had a girlfriend who lived in Benedict Arnold's old house in Philly "“ not many people know he ever lived there "“ and one day this ball of light appeared in the garden and hovered there. We saw it from inside, but when we went out, it just disappeared."

"OK," the guy said. "I have special tank top for you."

3-D fabric

He went into his beat-up old briefcase and brought out a plastic bag and extracted a tank top, unfolded it and held it up for me. It was striking— amazing, really: On a deep blue background were planets and comets, almost in 3-D, like in deep space, and in the foreground a streamlined flying saucer seemed to fly off the gossamer cloth right into my eyes.

I blinked and felt my eyebrows raise in astonishment.

"Want it?" he asked. "It's airbrushed. I got it a long time ago in Laguna Beach from this bunch of airbrush freaks called the Spray Blasters. I used it up and now I have to pass it on. It's magic, you know."

"Jeez, it's beautiful," I said. "It's really stunning. I love it. But what do you mean, you used it up?"

"You get three wishes with this shirt. Then you gotta pass it on to somebody who believes in magic. I just used my last wish."

"What was it?" I asked.

"That's another thing: You can't tell anybody the wishes or it won't work. And you have to have the shirt on when you make the wish. You still want it?"

"Sure. Who wouldn't? And I have a wish all ready. How much?"

"No charge, brother," he said. "The magic belongs to the people. Let me put it in a bag for you."

Testing the magic

So away I went, the proud owner of a unique, one-of-a-kind, magic tank top.

That night, I road-tested it. My beautiful calico cat, Ingrid, had been missing for almost two months. Before I went to bed, I put on the tank top, wished for Ingrid's safe return, and fell asleep.

In the wee, small hours, I heard a meow on the roof near my window. There was Ingrid, safe and sound. I opened the window and she hopped in like she'd never been gone, curled up at the foot of the bed, and went to sleep.

That was almost a year ago"“ and I still have two more wishes.

You may tell me: You old hippies are still ingesting the same Kool-Aid you swallowed 40 years ago. To which I reply: You're right. And it still works better than the alternatives.