What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? It's a trick. They can't both exist. If there is something that can't be stopped then it's not possible for there to be something that can't be moved.
Beca stirred her coffee, letting the frothy milk absorb the little packet of sugar that she had spilled half over the table and half in the cup – her mind was on other things. She stared vaguely down the street, not noticing the pigeon working his way towards her feet to pick up some scraps that had been dropped by a previous customer. She was in the middle of the city, George St buses rolling past with obscure suburb names written on the front that she had never even considered visiting. Some would say that she lived in a bubble. Her own dreamy bubble filled with her own consciousness, never making room for anyone else. She had never considered herself to be spoiled but her life was by no means difficult. Just looking at her you would assume that her choice to wear hoodies continuously and baggy t-shirts that were a thousand years old was all part of some rebellion against the expected image of a middle-class white girl.
She impatiently checked her iphone, 10:45. Beca wasn't the type to be early to meetings but in this case she had made a special effort to get on the train half an hour earlier than she probably needed to, making sure she would get to this little café in the city before Luke showed up. She had been dating Luke for the past few months but her preoccupation with studies and the fact that they spent most of their time in different cities had just prolonged the relationship – which was mainly about sex, not communication or trust or whatever people expected to get out of relationships. Beca went to Barden University – fake uni for the under achievers as her school friends described it. The campus was three hours away, out in the country and Beca's decision to go there had seemed to them to be a complete waste of time. Beca had never been averse to adventure but going to uni in the sticks when she could have gone to UCLA with the rest of them seemed excessive. The wild stories of drug-fuelled parties and weeklong hangovers seemed made up to her city friends. The photos they followed of Beca on Facebook seemed to act as her alibi – proof that campus life was indeed as out of control as Beca described.
Beca checked her iphone again, 10:47. Why had she gotten here so early? It was a waste of time, he was going to hate her no matter how punctual she was to the break up. It wasn't that she didn't like Luke, he was tall and handsome and loyal. He was nice to her friends and always paid for her movie tickets, his breath always smelled like peppermint. Luke just wasn't enough. Beca wasn't a romantic, wasn't even sure she believed in marriage or love at first sight but she knew that Luke just wasn't enough. She kissed him with her eyes open and always felt guilty when she saw his eyes were hidden beneath their lids. But she played the part well, she pretended to love the cute messages he sent and even allowed him to meet her family (a complete disaster). Beca would never admit it but she wanted a spark, a searing moment of intensity that made her breath catch, she wanted this thing that she didn't even know existed, but hoped deep in her core that it did.
Her friends called her a frat boy trapped in a girl's body because she flitted from guy to guy without getting hurt, getting too deep, getting heartbroken. Truth be told she didn't give anyone much of a chance to get there. Her dating life was more a perpetual ritualistic dance where she would change partner as the song ended.
In her mind Beca rehearsed what she was going to say to him. It was something along the same lines that she always used, standard clichés like; 'it's not you, its me', 'I'm just not in the right place for a relationship right now', and 'I really hope we can be friends'. Beca knew the routine by now, she knew he would argue and tell her she was being ridiculous and she would tell him the hurtful truth; she just didn't want to be with him.
She didn't like the way he called her everyday or the way he tried to impress her friends or even the way he would hold her hand at the movies. Without meaning to Beca always turned into 'that girl', the one who wouldn't love anyone or let anyone love her. She generally liked it better on her own. She looked up as the pigeon flew away and saw Luke's broad, tall shoulders working their way through the crowd toward her. She took a deep breath and returned her gaze to her coffee.