Absolutely love that smokey smell of a coffee shop. Made me feel high, don't know why. I've always loved the smell ever since I was a teen when they had the little holes on the front of the bag. You squeeze it to sense the freshness of the coffee. Yes, I was a bit strange as a child.
"Hey, how are you." I say to the light skinned doe-eyed man, as I do every Tuesday and Thursday. Curly dark brown hair, and slim and tall.
"I'm great, and you?" He says back.
"I'm doin' good." I reply. Then I pass his booth to go choose my own. I slide in the brown cushioned seats as they squeaked violently. I sat my purse next to the napkin and extras on the table as the waitress came and took my order. Coffee and a double chocolate chip cookie is what I always order, and she was back in a minute with that. As I added, my cream and sugar packets I noticed how annoyingly the sun was baking my sweater, making me itch. Think the weather man lied to me. He said it was cool and windy? Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, I hope we won't have to have a talk about this forecast shit.
I ripped off my sweater and tightly folded it and put it in my rather large purse. I guess I can read a book to pass time. But I never pay attention to it. I pull out the book, "To Kill a Mockingbird". Everyone said it was an extremely good book, but I can't seem to pay attention to it. My mind is always somewhere else. I never get bored, I think too much. My mind won't allow me.
I look out to my left out the wide span of a window looking on to the street of State and Ohio. Look up; I see the Green Line train station. That's when it dawned on me; ever hear a person say you have really pretty eyes? (Less likely.) When you have the sun hitting your eyes from a comfortable position, from the side you can really see the definition of an eye. The color, the molding of the cornea. Everything. That's why I adore the man sitting two rows back of me. His eyes are gorgeous, honestly. Speaking of him, how much you wanna bet he's staring at me? I boldly turn around to see him cut his head down to his sketch pad.
HA. I turn back around with a satisfied chuckle. I look down to my coffee and finished it, broke my cookie in half and looked at it carefully. Then brought my cookie up to my nose, and smelled it. (NO, not like the coffee.) I mean, you can never be too safe with food complete strangers are preparing for you. Just saw the news last month about a boy that died from taking a mini snickers from an old man. Internal bleeding in the throat. Sick, and horrifyingly tragic.
Wh—why is she smelling her cookie? Not every day you see such a feminine woman sniffing food, but still, a turn on.
Every day I come here we say hello to each other. Seeing each other every day, so we might as well be friendly to one another. But when I first saw her, it was like she punched me in the face. She spoke and that was a kick in the stomach. She had a soothing raspy-ness in her voice, and it shows obvious vocal training. Maybe she was a singer? I don't know but I she stuns me. God I must sound like some insolent buffoon bowing at the queen's feet. I do, but hey. Anything for the chocolate queen. Mahogany skin, almond brown eyes and I can't tell whether its eyeliner or her eyelashes are just naturally thick that way? It makes the brown of her eyes stand out. I like her hair, too. It's extremely wavy, which makes it look like curls that were put there on purpose.
I sit here, drooling every time I come to the café. The elderly men look at me as if they've been there, with their wives. And I respect that. Looking back on fresh lovers. When they first laid eyes on their little Lucy, back in 65'. I respect that. But it's about time I find my little Lucy. Although her name is Amal. No, we've never had a real conversation over this past month, but her name tag. She works at the retirement home on Clark and Division. Nurse Amal Goodwin, Claris Elm's Retirement home. Saw it so many times, I said to hell with it and read it. So many time I've wanted to go talk to Amal, but…
You know what? Fuck it. I'm talking to her today. (Although I said that last week.) Enough bitching around, just talk to her. Stay cool.
I pick up my things my sketch pad, jacket (Although I don't need it, damn you Jerry.) and my coffee then headed her way. Hey, Amal right? Yeah, wondering why we haven't said more than thirty words to each other. Perfect, but how will she react? 'How the fuck do you know my name?' Most likely. 'Yeah, why wanna chat?' Less likely.
I'm a good six feet away from her before I choke up, and she looks up to me, me visibly seeing the structure of her face.
Beauty.
I gave a breathy smile, and kept striding toward the door.
Maybe next time, my feminine Goddess.