Story: “Cappuccino”
{{first, let me just say thanks to Jennie. You are awesome. I am so glad you humored me in this weird request. I so wish our paths wouldn’t keep wandering off from one another.}}
Story: Cappuccino
“I don’t usually read those “I saw you” personals. I’ve always thought they were a little creepy. No offense.” Sam nods, indicating that no offense has been taken. “But I decided to scan through them for fun the other day, and there you were… looking for me.”
After a long pause, the two smile slowly at one another.
“I’m glad I found you,” Sam says. The waiters in the closed restaurant mill about, acting like they have more to do than they actually do. They are trying to make Chris & Sam aware that they closed almost an hour ago, which is finally dawning on the two. They have been gazing at one another, trying to recapture the magic of their chance encounter in the café. They aren’t finding exactly the same thing, but neither is particularly disappointed in this date. It has been going quite well in fact.
Chris has said all the right things, complementing when necessary and laughing at the right parts of the jokes. Sam has been attentive and doting, stressing the many excellent qualities that are so obvious. They are completely captivated by each other in this one amazing evening. Everything between these two seems perfect.
The attempts to usher the two lovers from the restaurant are becoming less subtle. There is increased urgency. The gazing soon moves out to the parking lot, where only two cars remain. The cars are next to one another in a strange coincidence. The two had met up inside, having come separately and not knowing what the other was driving. But there they were, side-by-side sedans. This makes both of them smirk a little.
“Would you like to grab a cup of coffee?” Sam asks hopefully.
“Yeah.”
The café where they had met is less than a quarter mile away and they decide to walk. They do this without much conversation, each analyzing the other’s mannerisms and imagining themselves happily married.
In the café, they both order a cappuccino. Sam’s heart races. The cappuccino started this love affair last Tuesday evening. It seems oddly important that the same drink has been ordered.
The two sit in a quiet corner. The café is relatively empty; it is late in the evening and the overnight crowd hasn’t started to show up yet. Both Chris and Sam are relieved that it isn’t as crowded as it can get. They want to talk.
Chris, being a little more talkative, nervously chatters about nothing in particular before deciding to share some background story. Sam learns about sisters and aunts and holidays at “Gram’s.” There is a mutual vision of sharing these things, even though the two have only recently met. Still listening intently to Sam, a smile slowly creeps across Sam’s face.
Sam prefers to not talk about family, as there is not much to tell. Having been alone for the majority of adult life, Sam has been searching for a family. Hopefully, Chris will satisfy this need. Instead of a family story, Sam talks about work. Chris is fascinated by the nuances of life in retail.
{okay, I created these characters and I just can’t get into them right now. I will update this one later. I also haven’t been able to determine the gender of either character. Perhaps it is better that they don’t have a specific one. It is more interesting to me that they could be either.}
Featured Image Art: AI Image (created using Wonder AI)
Thoughts to people I’ve had on my mind lately. I don’t expect these people to read this, but I wanted my thoughts out there. I also don’t want anyone to feel left out. I have a lot of people in my life and a lot of love to give. Don’t take it personally if I didn’t mention you.
Grant: I am worried that we have failed to connect recently. I have really tried to open up to you as a friend, but held back a little. I find it difficult to relate to men who aren’t gay, which is horrible of me. I feel like I am disappointing you at work and I hate it. Working for you is the only reason I am still at the store. I want to work for/with you, not only because you are a great guy to be around, but also because you know how to manage a store.
“The man who doesn’t relax and hoot a few hoots voluntarily, now and then, is in great danger of hooting hoots and standing on his head for the edification of the pathologist and trained nurse, a little later on.”
I wanted to be a writer. I still do. But I feel like that is slipping further and further away, as I am in a line of work that requires a lot of work all day. Much of what I do is mental work, but that is just as taxing and I end up exhausted and disinterested by the time I get home. To calm down and resume the love of things I forget to enjoy requires me to spend a few hours with David or Heather just so I can collect my thoughts. Is my job getting in the way of my goals? I don’t want to believe that it is, but I am obviously not doing what I love to do as a result of what I need to do to pay the bills. And it barely does that.
Sometimes, I feel so aware of the world that it hurts. I feel like every second is so real that I can almost touch it; like time has slowed so much that it is tangible and everything is. In these moments, remembering to breath becomes a chore, as each lung creates disturbances within my chest. The air is often dripping with moisture, beads of water practically suspended, fully formed, in mid-air. These moments seem to exist for smoking — the soothing aroma combines with the moment and you feel like you are a million miles away, floating above this reality. Even now, long since smoke free, these fragments of time are both exhilerating and frightening; it can feel like time will not start up again.
If there was ever going to be a subject that frightened those around me, this is it. I don’t mean to alarm those who have put so much trust in me — and indeed I am nothing if not loyal. However, after a year and a half working for Borders, I still feel like I am working for the other side — for Barnes & Noble. I’m not sure why I have yet to feel at home with the company I am now working for. Perhaps it is the many hours I put in at B&N that made it feel like my life.
That was the beginning of the end. I could not have been more furious with Marla and she had to know it. She couldn’t have been more frustrated with me. I knew it. The tension between us was now so obvious that people could pinpoint us as the problem, but I no longer cared. In retrospect, although I feel that I was right about obtaining professional help, I am sure I was looking for someone to project blame on. I didn’t deal well with the whole situation and was sleeping a lot, as I was very depressed. That summer, I often cried myself to sleep for what seemed like no reason.
I’ll make this as brief as possible; there are plenty of books on the subject and my views are not going to make any difference.
It is this label reading that has forced me to deal with something else. Artifice in my food. Primarily, I don’t have the energy to read through long lists of ingredients. I’d rather put the item back than sort through everything. But I also find that I can reduce the amount of other items too. HFCS generally keeps a food item from coming home with me. As does anything claiming to be “enriched” or “whitened.”
Perhaps one thing I developed as a child of Oklahoma is an innate sense of faith. It is something I take for granted; something I assume we all have in common. When I am proven wrong about faith — when I discover the great numbers of beliefless people, I am dumbstruck and a little bit sad.
But I believe very strongly that the blame for this goes entirely to the religious leaders of the world. In their efforts to speak for God, a contemptuous act, they have alienated too many. With such a variety of people, it is hard for many to feel they belong into the rigid molds cast by well meaning theological dictators. That is unfortunate.
It isn’t about these specific religious thoughts, but about faith. Simply having faith is the important part. For myself, I will continue to feel my way through blindly. My own faith is hardly shaken. I am saddened that there are so many without a place to turn when life gets to be difficult. They end up turning on themselves. I don’t feel that it is too late for the major religions of this planet. The most important thing is to eliminate hate. Without hate, the anti-faith movement has less footing. Without hate, support can be found in surprising places. Without hate, there will only be love. Love is something all types of people can support. With more people joining the efforts, support systems are built and mankind can only benefit from such a system.
“it is difficult to think of you without me in the sentence”
Such intense fascinations seem to have left David Eugene alone… having no lasting friendships and only the memory of long-term relationships. But it seems that he does everything right. He does not seem directly responsible for this problem. Rather, the endless people throwing themselves at him seems to be a symptom of an intangible that only he has. Every few weeks, David Eugene meets someone new. Often, he is very interested in them and they seem equally interested in him. This initial getting to know one another period is both intense and wonderful. David Eugene starts to see a wedding, a home, dogs, and the life he has always wanted. The guy of the moment seems to share this vision — saying everything they know David Eugene wants to hear.
It doesn’t last. Soon, this new guy moves on, scared away by the seriousness of this plan. David Eugene is left alone — again. How can it be fair that such an amazing person could be used and discarded? Why do people treat the most generous of us like trash? And more importantly, how can this cycle be broken?
“Mimi” is my mom’s mom, Bonita Christine “Chris” Tucker. She was the matriarch of our family; the force that connected us all and kept us together. She orchestrated every event that brought us together, reminded us to connect with one another, and nagged us all mercilessly. Mimi was an extremely confident woman who knew who she was. She was totally devoted to her husband, her God, & the other members of her church. She was generous with her money and her time, but was never afraid to tell you her opinion on what you were doing. Evidently, there wasn’t enough money to be made as a writer to justify her supporting it. I cherished talking to her. I would sit with her and talk about people for hours… she knew absolutely everything going on in Stillwater. But it never seemed like gossip. Mimi was a very good-hearted person.
That week was surreal. I still don’t remember much of it. Of course, it culminated in a beautiful funeral. I had gone back home to Tulsa to get some clothes and for the funeral I chose the shirt she had just given me for Christmas. The shirt was a gold knit with a collar. I wore khaki pants. I wouldn’t have felt right in dark colors and I really wanted to celebrate life. The funeral was made that much more difficult when I discovered that my cousins’ nanny was sitting with them and I couldn’t sit with my immediate family because of it. Furthermore, I ended up next to my mom’s friend, who had apparently not figured out that I was an adult and kept talking to me as if I were a child.