Bittersweet Love II

            I continued to go to that coffee shop every day, as usual. I would end up seeing Gwen there a couple times a week. It turned out that we had encountered each other a few times throughout middle school. I made her coffee, we talked, and we had a good time.
            Then something terrible happened. I went on for over a month without going to that coffee shop. When I finally went back, it was a Thursday. I stood a moment in front of the shop and let out a sigh. It was the first day in a long time that I couldn’t see my breath. You can always rely on New England weather to be unreliable.

            I walked through the door and she leapt at me. “Donnie! Where have you been?” She hugged me long and hard as I stood there, my eyes half open. “Hey, are you okay?”

            “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just really tired. I could really use a cup of Joe.”

            “Okay, Sure,” she said with her perky voice. We walked to the counter and I rang the bell once. The woman who worked there came out and saw me. She asked me where I’d been. I fed her a simple ‘Around’ and she seemed to think of that as an acceptable answer.

            “So, what’ll it be, stranger?”

            I took out my wallet and checked my funds. “I’ll have a glass of ice water. Oh, and a slice of lemon if that’s free.”

            “He’ll have a small coffee and a large cup.” Gwen smiled at me. “You’ve made me coffee so many times, I figure I should return the favor.”

            “Thanks, it means a lot to me.” And, it did. I meant a lot to me. But, in no way did my voice reflect how much it meant to me. My affect was blander than decaf. We went to our usual spot and sat down. “I don’t have any of my ingredients.”
            “That’s okay. You didn’t show up for a couple days, so I figured I’d take a stab at your concoction”

            “Show me what you’ve got.”

            She emptied a small leather satchel (which matched mine) and started combining ingredients with the coffee in the large cup. She slid the final result across the table and I’ll never forget what she said.

            “I can tell you don’t want to talk about where you’ve been, so let’s make a bet. If your coffee tastes better than mine, I’ll metaphorically go sit over there and let you finish moping. If my coffee is better, then you actually open your mouth and let me know why my best friend disappeared for a month” I sighed and shrugged at her. She placed the cup in front of me and motioned with her hands for me to drink it.

            I dove right into that cup. I would savor it later. Just the feeling of caffeine and simple carbohydrates entering my body was refreshing. For the first time that month, my eyes opened all the way and I sat up straight. Then it hit me. “Vanilla extract!” The sudden burst of energy made it so much better. “Real cream instead of milk or that powdered crap.” I breathed air so fresh, I couldn’t believe I was in my hometown. “Wait a minute. Just hold on!” I took another sip and let the taste sink in. “Strawberry extract,” I whispered. I stood in the air, threw up my hands and shouted, “Strawberry extract!”

            At the other end of the room, the coffee lady was shaking her head. Gwen was still smiling. “Now that’s the Donnie I used to know.”

            “Sorry, I haven’t had the bitter taste of caffeine in over a month.”

            “Well, my coffee was obviously better. Now tell me where you’ve been. What happened to you? You walked in here as a zombie.”

            I laughed. I laughed a lot, actually. I laughed to the point where watching me laugh was a little funny, then a tad annoying.

            “What’s so funny?”

            I sat back down and took a deep breath. I did not look her in the eyes when I said, “Your coffee was not better. It was exhilaratingly refreshing, but not better than my brew. The strawberry extract was so exciting because I tried it out when I was still learning to make the perfect cup. I stopped using it, though, because I found other things that better compliment coffee.” I was glad I couldn’t see her face. “The day you make a better cup of coffee than me, I will tell you where I was.” I turned to her and winked. “And, I’ll propose to you.”

            “Hmm.”

            She said ‘Hmm’! Don’t even get me started on that sound. I’ll explain more later.

            “But, you’re fine now, right?” she asked.

            At that point, I decided I should sigh professionally and get paid for it. I could do a couple of tours and then retire. “I’m of sound body and mind, but I lost my job. Right now all the money I have is just what my church gave to me. I can’t pay my rent or my bills. I’ve survived the past two days on ramen noodles.”

            When I finished that little explanation, I noticed something very important. My left hand was wrapped around the coffee she made me and my right was resting on the table. Her right hand was around her cup. It was her left hand that metaphorically struck me so hard it didn’t feel all that metaphorical. Her left hand was wrapped around my right.

            That was enough to shock me. My surprise must have been subtle, though, because then she told me, “You can stay with my boyfriend if you-“

            “No, thanks!” I said, but she continued.

            “-Can’t find a place to stay.” She sighed when she finished. She could have joined my Olympic sighing team. She was good at it. “Will you at least consider it?”

            “You know how I feel about your boyfriend. He doesn’t understand you. He wouldn’t know compassion if you force-fed him it. He’s dumber than dirt. Plus, on top of all that, he makes you feel like crap all the time. Jesus Christ, he should be a politician.”

            “Hey, that was a low blow. Besides, you have nothing to back up those opinions.

            “One: he bought you decaf beans for your birthday. Need I say more? I’m going to anyway. Two: if I ask him your shoe size, ring size, height, weight, birthday, favorite color, eye color, or even your age, he won’t know. Hell, I bet he doesn’t even know you’re a b cup. Or that you don’t know your shoe size in women’s because you’ve only worn men’s shoes since you were eight. Does he know that you’re five foot eight and a quarter? You know that promise ring he gave you barely fits your pinky. And, then there’s that joke he has about your weight. He says you’re the perfect weight to bench press. Not only does he not know how much you weigh, but he can’t bench press you. Honestly, he’ll have to work out a lot if he wants to carry you through the doorway of your newly wed home.”

            I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t look into her eyes, but I knew tears were there. It was like falling off a building: scary as hell, impossible to stop, and when it’s all over, the pain is incomprehensible.

            “Does he know you were born January twelfth at 8:23 A.M. in the hospital down the street? Does he know that when people ask you your favorite color, you tell them it’s green, when in fact it is yellow? Does he know that your eyes are usually hazel,  but when you stare into mine, they turn green? Does he know I’m in love with you?!”