The knotty problem of getting back together after romance goes sour was on my mind as I stepped away from my tailor’s front door and crossed the street to the coffee emporium on one of the most fashionable street running along the edge of the Garden District in the city that care forgot. Obviously, this isn’t a problem that attracts easy answers since the parties involved are often of highly different opinions as to what “getting back together” means in both the short and long term. As I stood at the entrance of the public establishment and focused my eyes on the adjustment of the sleeve of my seersucker suit coat so that exactly one quarter of my white shirt cuff, whose French folds were secured with a square inch of polished sterling silver, whom did I espy inside lifting an espresso cup to his lips but young Tad. The young fellow seemed quite happy with himself and his circumstances, and I was suddenly eager to find out the state of his heart since his return from the spa out west, the elegant spa that gave him a venue in which to recover from his adverse reaction to the heartbreak he suffered as a result of his beloved Stephanie’s abandonment of him for her polo ponies. I check the half Windsor knot of my silk necktie and entered the shop, and I had not taken two steps past the door when Tad saw me and stood up easily from his seat. “Sir,” he addressed in the most friendly fashion imaginable, “please join me for an espresso and allow me to tell you how different my view of life is now that I have a different perspective on getting back together with Stephanie.”

I took a seat and pushed my white straw Panama hat back on my head. Tad, who confidently  stated that he had a new view of getting back together with dear Stephanie, signaled the waiter to bring both of us a cup of the hot, highly caffeinated fluid. I was very eager to hear the young man’s articulation of how he managed to adjust his romantic vision to accommodate his new-found freedom from heartache and emotional travail. The waiter delivered our drinks and placed them before us.

“Well, Tad,” I can’t tell you how pleased I am to find you in such an upbeat mood. Please let me know how you have overcome the dark cloud of love gone awry that hung over you at our last meeting.”

“I’ll be please to do just that, sir.’ Tad dabbed his thin lips with his linen table napkin. “After out last meeting at the restaurant, during which you advised me to become more introspective as a method of recapturing my Stephanie, I caught out, as the vulgar expression goes, for the California coast and landed in a spa that is owned by my father’s brother. While I was at the spa, I learned several things about my expectations concerning my one true love. For example, I had learned during my younger years that many of my ideas about finding one true love and staying with her were the product of movies and television. These mass produced products indicated that I should attempt to find just one person and cling to her forever. The good people at the spa point out to me that it more realistic to presume I could have a series of true loves, and that this series of romantic interests would come to represent the various stages of my emotional maturation process.”

Suffering catfish, I thought to myself as my coffee grew cold in its cup. Is this the same fellow who was hopping from one foot to another just a few months ago? I started to ask for a moment so I could absorbed this new perspective on life and love, but young Tad was determined to press ahead with his excellent revelation of how to the nuances involved in the concept of getting back together.

Tad certainly rocked me on my heels as he summed up his learning experience at the spa. I never one thought he would grow up so quickly as a result of my prompting to become more introspective. I was all ears, as they say in certain parts of town I rarely visit on a voluntary basis, to find how these insights had materially changed his love behavior.

“I’m taking a broad, general view of love these days, sir,” said Tad in answer to my unspoken inquiry.

“However do you mean that, Tad?” I asked.

Sir,” replied Tad, “I’ve jettisoned my fantasy that Stephanie is by beautiful princess and I’m her prince, and that I will ride up on my great steed, which will transport us into the romance of a golden sunset. No, I am now more fully grounded in reality, and I am grappling with the rough edges of adult life by keeping time with an entire company of young females.”

Tad stood up abruptly with a look of self-satisfaction on his handsome face. “In fact, sir, I haven’t another moment to waste! I am scheduled to make whoopee with the Smith twins, which you know do not care to be kept waiting by their gentleman caller.”

“Yes, yes,” I mumbled. “You should go to them immediately! Carry on, young man, carry on.”

With a gait that would not brook any interference, Tad strode heroically away from our table and out the door of the emporium.

I sat back, pulled my linen handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit coat and mopped my slightly moist brow. Over the course of my many years I had never seen such a significant change come over a young person. Indeed, if today’s demonstration was any example of what was to follow, I suspect that there would be any number of young people who would change their opinions of what getting back together means as one learns the differences between romantic reality and romantic fantasy. If he was nothing else now, young Tad was a bearer of different news, and like the fabled Mercury, his message would fly swift and sure throughout this steamy city.