COFFEE SHOP

Written by Rob C. Bartlett

‘The usual, Si?’ She was everything to me. A curvaceous, sparkled beauty who knew how I felt with one glance. Joyful, sad or in desperate need of caffeine first thing. Her little finger stuck out like a dog’s leg whenever she poured the espresso into my medium Americano. I liked that.

I muttered my reply, too shy to make eye contact. And a lemon poppy-seed muffin too, to eat in, as always. My comfort blanket to the miserable reality which laid outside these walls, dressed in their tacky, mass-produced coffee shop art: I could paint that, if I really wanted to.

‘I’ll bring them over for you.’ My mouth dried as I squeaked gratitude. How did she reduce me to this pathetic, grotesque lump of a human? Why did I not have the same effect on her?

GAH! Too many questions. Sit down, stupid head! The millennials type-type-typed on their laptops and the gaggle of new mothers cackled vivaciously in the corner. I made my way to the right of the counter where my favourite spot sat free: I could glance out of the window and muse thoughts at my leisure but, more importantly, it gave me a perfect view to her. I could see every shuffle, every bend - every smile. I would always be there, beside her, where I was meant to be. Sometimes she even smiled back.

The hour passed with little intervention. Another man came in and flirted with her, but I forgave her. She didn’t look at him the way she looked at me: I was special. I took one last gulp (Christ, she could pour a coffee) and dusted the muffin crumbs from my lap. A dog barked at some crows outside, but they failed to stir. I knew what it felt like to be ignored.

I wrapped the scarf tightly around my neck and swung on my coat. Nobody looked at me again; they might do someday.

‘See you tomorrow?’ She didn’t have to ask; she knew. I moped the same words to her. Add in a joke, you idiot! GAH! What is wrong with you?

***

I slipped on ice and yelped excitedly as I rounded the corner too quickly. I was anxious to see her. Calm down, stupid head! You’ll ruin it, you always do.

NO! Today was different: I felt confident and the menace was in me. I swaggered indoors and the warmth hugged my cheeks, blush red from winter’s frosty cough. Every day for six weeks I’d been welcomed by her gaze but today, of all days, her eyes failed to meet mine. Damn! She must be in the back. Maybe she’s working on the rota: she liked to work on the rota on Thursdays.

I sat in my favourite spot, ate and drank my usual and waited. My heart pounded and sweat bled from me. Each type-type-type boomed and echoed through my eardrum like a screeching subway train. The cackles of laughter grated and made my skin itch. Where was she? I needed to see her TODAY.

But she never showed. I flung on my scarf and coat and got up to leave, angered, betrayed and alone. I made my way back past the counter and felt a raging urge to smash the displays her neat hand had fashioned.

And that’s when I heard it. ‘Such awful news, so tragic. She was such a lovely girl.’

Someone had already claimed her.