itismeangied (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
itismeangied) wrote2022-04-16 12:16 am
itismeangied) wrote2022-04-16 12:16 am
Lonely Mouth
I had to be at the shop by 10:00 a.m, so I definitely had time to stop. Collecting my keys and phone is the first step. Then I have to check to see if my straightener is off. Then again. And once more. I am nervous already today, so I have to take a picture of the outlet, just to prove it has nothing in it. It’s still a little uncertain but I need to see him. I check the coffee maker again. But I have to do this so the building won’t burn down, I can’t have that on my conscience.
Out on the pavement, evidence of rain, and the smell is nostalgic and organic. I like when the humidity is high because it makes my curls wild. And that’s what I am, a wild woman, with hair that matches my brain.
So there’s this cafe on Spring Street. It’s new, very trendy, and has really good expensive coffee and hit-or-miss vegan desserts. It’s on the way to the shop and I always like to have a second coffee. And by that I mean there’s a very handsome barista that works there and I need to see him because I have an overactive imaginary world in which he is a starring character and I get a delicious ego boost when we exchange words. I think we would make a divine couple and he should have my babies.
I love my winged eyeliner today and my hair is puffy and interesting and this makes for a good entrance and mystique. I enter and there are two patrons in line. And, he is HERE! I wait for my heart rate to drop and adjust my coat, he might notice my Twin Peaks Double R Diner pin and say something. We’ll see. I watch him interact with the first in line and notice them talking about tattoos and his smile is so beautiful. I wonder if he is a good kisser. I wonder if he is nice to his mother, and I also wonder what his ab situation is. I could see us walking down the street together, with a small dog and ice cream cones. I drop mine and Ziggy starts licking the fallen scoop and we laugh and share the rest of the remaining cone.
“Thank you, enjoy.” Barista says to the person in front of me.
I think I have time to order a pastry and sit for a few minutes so I decide to order a coffee and vegan fruit thingy so I can sit down and maybe he will stop by while I’m sitting. I’m never hungry in the morning.
“Hey, how are you today?” Barista smiled and the outer corners of his eyes wrinkled in this really magical way.
“I’m ok, kinda rainy out there though.” Wow, such an interesting repartee I have begun.
“What can I get ya?”
“Black coffee for here and a rainbow fruit tart. Thank you.”
“You got it. I am surprised you didn’t get the cherry pie.” He signaled to my coat lapel.
He’s making a Twin Peaks reference. ALERT. ALERT!
“Ha ha, wow, you like that show?”
“It’s one of my favorites, and you kinda look like Shelly. She was so pretty.” His face looked scared, like he knew he just complimented me,
Oh my god, he just said I am pretty. “Aw yeah, she’s like my favorite character. She and Bobby were so hot together.” Oh no, that was weird. I went from boring to creepy in record time.
“Haha totally,” he said, “it’s $8.50.”
I swallowed nervously and finished the transaction trying to look unfazed by the compliment. I chose a small high top by the window to assess the conversation. Was that weird? Forward? Sexy? Lame? Am I sure the coffee maker was off?
I looked out the window and lifted my coffee to my mouth. I let the steam rise and float over the tip of my nose and inhaled. My mind wandered to mornings in my childhood. I never liked the feeling of the air, the way the birds sang made me sad. I made up stories about the birds. They all had names and places to go and lives of their own. All the trees around my house have special names because the birds lived in them. When I was about 6 years old, I was talking about this to myself when I was alone in the front yard and I remember being surprised when my aunt startled me, mid-imagining. Who knows what I was doing exactly.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a tone that judged.
I don’t remember what I said, but I remember what I felt. It was searing embarrassment and shame. Normal people didn’t narrate the birds flying around their house. They didn’t let their imagination rule their life. They found comfort in connections with other people, not in coming up with stories that helped them escape. I wonder what I was escaping.
“Do you like the tart?”
I inhaled deeply and sat up straight. Barista was standing beside me.
“I…I…I liked it.”
“Oh good, you only took one bite, I thought maybe I would get you something else if you didn’t like it.”
“Oh thank you, that’s nice. But I am good.”
“So where do you work?” Barista said, wiping down the table next to me.
“The frame shop down the street. I build custom frames.”
“That’s cool. I’m an artist, maybe I should bring in one of my pieces.”
“You should! What kind of art do you make?”
“They’re abstract collages, mostly. I use lots of recycled materials and…” I lost his gaze to an angry patron who had been waiting at the counter. “I am so sorry, I have to go.”
I watched Barista shuffle to the counter and apologize as I finished my coffee, but I left the tart. His smile disarmed the person at the counter and I imagined him knocking at my door after we had a fight, wearing the same smile and holding a bouquet of roses. I bet he smells good when you get really close. Maybe a little like paint or recycled materials. I wonder what he likes to talk about. I wonder if he would accept my weirdness. He might think it’s endearing, fascinating. I picture him just gazing into my eyes how they do in movies, darting across the landscape of my face. The espresso machine buzz shakes my attention. It’s 10:03 a.m. Shit.
Out on the pavement, evidence of rain, and the smell is nostalgic and organic. I like when the humidity is high because it makes my curls wild. And that’s what I am, a wild woman, with hair that matches my brain.
So there’s this cafe on Spring Street. It’s new, very trendy, and has really good expensive coffee and hit-or-miss vegan desserts. It’s on the way to the shop and I always like to have a second coffee. And by that I mean there’s a very handsome barista that works there and I need to see him because I have an overactive imaginary world in which he is a starring character and I get a delicious ego boost when we exchange words. I think we would make a divine couple and he should have my babies.
I love my winged eyeliner today and my hair is puffy and interesting and this makes for a good entrance and mystique. I enter and there are two patrons in line. And, he is HERE! I wait for my heart rate to drop and adjust my coat, he might notice my Twin Peaks Double R Diner pin and say something. We’ll see. I watch him interact with the first in line and notice them talking about tattoos and his smile is so beautiful. I wonder if he is a good kisser. I wonder if he is nice to his mother, and I also wonder what his ab situation is. I could see us walking down the street together, with a small dog and ice cream cones. I drop mine and Ziggy starts licking the fallen scoop and we laugh and share the rest of the remaining cone.
“Thank you, enjoy.” Barista says to the person in front of me.
I think I have time to order a pastry and sit for a few minutes so I decide to order a coffee and vegan fruit thingy so I can sit down and maybe he will stop by while I’m sitting. I’m never hungry in the morning.
“Hey, how are you today?” Barista smiled and the outer corners of his eyes wrinkled in this really magical way.
“I’m ok, kinda rainy out there though.” Wow, such an interesting repartee I have begun.
“What can I get ya?”
“Black coffee for here and a rainbow fruit tart. Thank you.”
“You got it. I am surprised you didn’t get the cherry pie.” He signaled to my coat lapel.
He’s making a Twin Peaks reference. ALERT. ALERT!
“Ha ha, wow, you like that show?”
“It’s one of my favorites, and you kinda look like Shelly. She was so pretty.” His face looked scared, like he knew he just complimented me,
Oh my god, he just said I am pretty. “Aw yeah, she’s like my favorite character. She and Bobby were so hot together.” Oh no, that was weird. I went from boring to creepy in record time.
“Haha totally,” he said, “it’s $8.50.”
I swallowed nervously and finished the transaction trying to look unfazed by the compliment. I chose a small high top by the window to assess the conversation. Was that weird? Forward? Sexy? Lame? Am I sure the coffee maker was off?
I looked out the window and lifted my coffee to my mouth. I let the steam rise and float over the tip of my nose and inhaled. My mind wandered to mornings in my childhood. I never liked the feeling of the air, the way the birds sang made me sad. I made up stories about the birds. They all had names and places to go and lives of their own. All the trees around my house have special names because the birds lived in them. When I was about 6 years old, I was talking about this to myself when I was alone in the front yard and I remember being surprised when my aunt startled me, mid-imagining. Who knows what I was doing exactly.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a tone that judged.
I don’t remember what I said, but I remember what I felt. It was searing embarrassment and shame. Normal people didn’t narrate the birds flying around their house. They didn’t let their imagination rule their life. They found comfort in connections with other people, not in coming up with stories that helped them escape. I wonder what I was escaping.
“Do you like the tart?”
I inhaled deeply and sat up straight. Barista was standing beside me.
“I…I…I liked it.”
“Oh good, you only took one bite, I thought maybe I would get you something else if you didn’t like it.”
“Oh thank you, that’s nice. But I am good.”
“So where do you work?” Barista said, wiping down the table next to me.
“The frame shop down the street. I build custom frames.”
“That’s cool. I’m an artist, maybe I should bring in one of my pieces.”
“You should! What kind of art do you make?”
“They’re abstract collages, mostly. I use lots of recycled materials and…” I lost his gaze to an angry patron who had been waiting at the counter. “I am so sorry, I have to go.”
I watched Barista shuffle to the counter and apologize as I finished my coffee, but I left the tart. His smile disarmed the person at the counter and I imagined him knocking at my door after we had a fight, wearing the same smile and holding a bouquet of roses. I bet he smells good when you get really close. Maybe a little like paint or recycled materials. I wonder what he likes to talk about. I wonder if he would accept my weirdness. He might think it’s endearing, fascinating. I picture him just gazing into my eyes how they do in movies, darting across the landscape of my face. The espresso machine buzz shakes my attention. It’s 10:03 a.m. Shit.
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- Erulisse (one L)
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Also, I feel like "hit-or-miss" is the perfect descriptor for any vegan dessert. They're never just so-so are they?
Great work!
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I am glad you connected with those parts of her, she needs it! haha
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