Coffee Musings (1/1)

XxXxXxXxXx Show time! :)
 

I kindly thank the waitress for the thick, dark, and satisfying liquid she
hands me. I stir in a creamish color that sets off the deep black. With
circular stirring, the color disappears and joins the bleakness. I lift the
container to my lips and suck in the warmed liquid. I set it back on the
marblesque table and wrap my hands around it. With nothing pressing before me,
I glance around at my surroundings. Different people are sitting with one thing
in common: they each have a styrofoam cup in their hand. Some are silently
sitting, contemplating some unknown thing. Some are lost in their
conversations, chatting with animation. And then there is a couple ignoring
their coffees as they quietly discuss whatever it is they are lost in. I know
my eyes do not belong there, but they are rebellious. Something draws me to
them. I ignore my own coffee, in all its black, two-creamed goodness.

They are quite a match - he having trouble fitting his legs in his designated
place. She, a sort of porcelain doll. He frequently dips his head to give her a
lopsided grin which she returns with a wry comment. After any moving of her
lips, he grins in delight. There is an air of restraint about them. They are
comfortable with eachother's presence, but there is some sort of tension
thickly between them, I sense.

I bend my head down toward the flowing steam, warming my frozen face.
Unfreezing my face yes, but also to try and not seem so obvious with my eye
trained on them. That is quite ridiculous, I admonish myself. I doubt they even
realize they are surrounded by people.

I suckle the rim of the cup, tasting the tiniest bit of coffee. I gaze as he
takes her hand. He must be telling her some insane story because his eyes are
ardent, but her chuckles advise against anything serious taking place. She
laughs even harder and swipes her hand from his. He laughs into his cup as he
takes a big gulp from it. She intimately whispers something meant only for him
with her head bent in his direct line. He comes very close to spewing his
coffee in every direction.

I look away, briefly. In my own way, their happiness fuels my unhappiness.
Jealousy, the word that comes to me. There is no ring on her finger, nor on
his. They aren't married, though they appear to be. Not engaged either. They
are too caught up in eachother to just work together. Dating? Something tells
me that if they were only dating, they were on the verge of marriage.

Presently, he lifts his legs from their confinement and stands. He lowers
himself to ask her a question necessary for his departure. She smiles gratitude
and he saunters over in my direction. He is much taller than I and I lift my
head to look at him. He doesn't even acknowledge my staring as he shuffles by.

She seems very forlorn not having him there. Nervously, she taps her
fingernails on the faux marble tabletop. She straightens the napkins and places
the vase of plastic flowers in the middle of the shared table. She sighs and
fingers her cup - awaiting his return.

I turn back to my calling cup bearing the name Starbuck's on the front. I test
the contents to tell if it will burn the inside of my mouth once again. It
fills my mouth and I sigh to myself. To have a relationship like theirs. To be
even a fraction as fortunate as they are. What I wouldn't give; I finish my
fragment thought. Life's too full to get to know someone as well as you would
need to, I reassure myself. I snicker at the thought of being able to hold down
my career as well as a long-term relationship. How do they go about doing it, I
wonder. Maybe they would be willing to give advise to this love failing woman
who has nothing better to do than gawk at a couple sipping coffee, I joke with
myself. I wonder if my entire love life will be spent vicariously living
through customers of a coffee chain. I wipe my mouth with a paper napkin. Why
couldn't I have someone where the world around us two would dissipate when we
were in eachother's company?

He comes back from the direction of the counter, two cups brimming with steam.
He catches her attention and pretends to drink out of both. She stops him
before his lips reach her own cup. She lightly taps him on the shoulder and
calls his name, chastising him. He sets the two down upon the table, the double
clink sounding. They resume their talk and I resume my drinking.

I muse that maybe I'm not ready at all. A relationship is not always the answer
for emptiness, I remind myself. As for emptiness, I am a veteran at the
feeling. No. All I want is end to the loneliness and not to have a relationship
draining the time and energy I no longer have, I tell myself. I steal another
glance at their hands intertwined. I'm a liar. It is what I want. More than
anything. I want to leave. I don't want the reminder of what I strive for, but
can never have. I stand, but stop myself.

I see him coming towards me, sweet potato pie in hand. I smile, but cast my
glance downwards. He takes the seat across from me. "You're late. I was almost
giving up on you," I manage to say.

He recovers a fork from his pocket and glances up. "Me? Late? Never."

Such sarcasm, I think to myself.

"Want a bite?" He hands me another fork as he says this.

"Sure, Mulder, if you promise not to ask me if I've checked everywhere for
metal implants in my body." I grin as I steal a bit of the pie from him.

I forget about the couple I earnestly had my eye on. I barely notice as they
walk, hand in hand, out of the main entrance. My concentration is set on the
person repelling my fork to take a bit of pie. Maybe I am as fortunate as they,
I imagine, as we vie for the last sliver of crust.

XxXxXxXx

:) Okay, I'm going, I'm going... :)