COFFEEE SHOP
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There was a young man with a crutch staring
at me from across the coffee shop today.
Although we'd never met or spoken, I had the terrible feeling we were on
a date.
The day started out as a perfectly
normal day. It was a crisp, sunny morning, just warm enough to be comfortable. I woke up early, pulled a dress from my closet (black, with small white
polka dots), and shrugged a jacket on before stepping out into the day. I had an hour before work started, and it was
time for my weekly cup of coffee.
The shop was one I knew well: a
quaint, casual, privately owned establishment that played local artists and
hosted monthly poetry readings, and the occasional talent show.
The barista, doing her best with the
outdated equipment, handed me my caramel macchiato with an apologetic smile,
and I tipped her extra. Then, with
golden sunlight filtering through the windows, I took a seat on the ground
floor and enjoyed the view.
The view which included,
incidentally, the young man in question.
He sat alone at a small table,
sipping a mug of what I presumed was black coffee. He had a crutch with him- not the kind that
goes under your arm, but the kind that wraps around your forearm.
Dark blond hair of medium length
framed an angular face which, though not what you'd call chiseled, left a
definite impression of high cheekbones and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. Freckles dotted his cheeks and a long
straight nose. His chin was tapered and
smooth- no hint of a dimple.
His clothing was not particularly
remarkable (a dull red, fitted V-neck T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and shoes I
thought might be Sketchers), though it did give me the impression that he
enjoyed looking nice even when casual.
He was tall, I could tell, because his long legs stretched out much
farther under the table than mine, and I wasn't short by any means.
From where I sat, I couldn't
determine the color of his eyes: only that they were locked on mine. At first,
I was embarrassed that he had caught me staring, until I realized he must have
been staring at me first. Fighting my
rising blush, I smiled the bland smile one does after making
accidental-eye-contact with a stranger, and turned to the side, burying myself
in my coffee. But I couldn't resist
sneaking another sideways glance at him now and then, and every time, he was
either looking at me already, or looked up just in time to catch my own gaze.
He raised an eyebrow at me, a
distinct and lively smile dancing on his lips, as he were laughing at me. In fact, I was sure he was laughing at
me. And yet, that smile was one of a
friend. Of someone who knew me well, and
only laughed because I made some sort of inside joke.
Swallowing, I averted my eyes and
stirred the macchiato. It was just cool
enough to drink, now, which was a relief as it gave me something to do! Something other than endure the man's gaze--or
risk returning it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
him chuckle softly and take another sip of coffee, thankfully turning so that
he faced the window, just parallel to me.
We sat like that for a few minutes, until I was brave enough to hazard
another peek above the rim of my cup.
Though he still faced the window, I
knew immediately he could see me peering.
He smiled again, then turned to face me fully before I had a chance to
look down.
There was no point in denying it
now- we were facing each other squarely, eye-to-eye. I set down my cup and tapped my fingers on
the table, and he did the same. I felt
the heat in my cheeks intensify, which was alarming in itself. It wasn't as if I'd never talked to a guy
before! I'd had a boyfriend or two-
which is not as many as most girls my age could boast- but it was a start. I was certainly beyond the point of blushing
and giggling with nerves like a sixth-grader.
Yet still I was seized by this unaccountable rush of
self-consciousness. I couldn't remember
being this flustered ever before- not even at my first job, when they set me in
front of a temperamental cash register without training and asked me to take
the orders of a dozen waiting customers.
I licked my lips carefully- conscious
of their slightly chapped surface- and blinked at the young man, trying not to
let my eyes wander too obviously to the crutch at his side. I wondered what he needed it for- an old
injury, or perhaps a disability he'd been born with...
As we sat there, I was filled with
the sudden alarming impression that we were on a date of sorts. We had never met or even spoken before that
moment, but we were here, less than twelve feet away from each other, enjoying
our coffee and, evidently, each other's company. Maybe if we were at the same table, he would
ask about my family, or my favorite color, or what I liked to do on a typical
Friday evening. I would of course
respond with a charming and tactful answer, then ask him about himself. Did he like music? What made him laugh? What were his dreams?
This peculiar impression was so
strong, I found myself too embarrassed to risk looking at him again. I faced the window instead, and gulped down
the rest of my coffee before glancing at my watch.
I had fifteen minutes to get to
work. Plenty of time, it was only a
short distance away. Still not looking
at the staring man, I stood and gathered my things.
But when I turned for the door- he
was gone. He and his crutch and his
unsettlingly-charming glances were just... gone.
Startled, I hesitated before going
to the door. For half a second, the
secret corner of my heart wished he would appear behind me and talk to me, but
the second passed and I knew it wouldn't happen. I was glad it didn't happen--what would we
have said?
So, tightening my grip on my purse
and on reality, I left the shop and fled for work.
I haven't been back to the coffee
shop since then. It's Saturday again,
and I'm due for my weekly treat- but I'm still standing out here on the
sidewalk, looking at the door. There's
only forty-five minutes before work this time, and I can already see he's not
in there.
But that clacking sound on the
pavement... is that the sound of a crutch?
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