"there were several ways it could have gone. she might have visited everyday, and i could have been the one who knew her go-to drink. maybe she might have had different drinks depending on her mood, or the weather, or the day of the week. or maybe she might have disappeared for a year, gone traveling and come back a profoundly different person. to meet me, a mildly different person.
as it were, i only saw her twice more in that year, and both times i was in the back restocking materials, like i was doing presently. i entertained the possibility that she actually did frequent the cafe and it was just by chance that i wasn't working that day. that fate was mischievously dealing me unfavorable cards.
in any case, i decided she was intriguing in my mind, i gave her free reign, this unremarkable girl in mahogany rimmed glasses. so as i contented myself with not knowing, there she was, standing in line cradling her books while surveying the menu. nothing in particular was going through my mind when i determined to ask her name.
some severe case of tunnel vision handicapped my senses because there is a deplorable gap in my conscious memory between holding a bag of coffee beans in the back room to standing at the cash register.
'hi, what can i get for you?'
'just an iced coffee please'
'and your name?' the anticipation, the unwarranted joy-
she gave me a bemused and quizzical look as she opened her mouth, paused, pursed her lips. 'you were in my architecture class last semester. my name is' my brain malfunctioned, and i don't remember the name she said afterwards, even as i wrote it onto the plastic cup. she was perhaps an angel who dragged my fantasy to meet reality in a discordant and dissonant collision, an angel who was now walking out of the cafe with iced coffee in hand. maybe it was the sleep deprivation from late nights in the studio, or maybe the intoxicating scent of coffee beans, because i felt intrigue rush through my veins with an anticipatory and impatient pulse."
sidenotes;
part I
this is a story of objectification, romanticizing fantasies, a boy who doesn't learn his lesson, a nameless girl whose influence goes beyond her awareness, a critique of popular portrayals of romance, a facetious satire. because i've felt objectified; because i have been called unremarkable, because i people watch, because i remember names, because i don't know how boys think, because i often wonder at the inner world of strangers standing beside me. and also because i love cafes.
as it were, i only saw her twice more in that year, and both times i was in the back restocking materials, like i was doing presently. i entertained the possibility that she actually did frequent the cafe and it was just by chance that i wasn't working that day. that fate was mischievously dealing me unfavorable cards.
in any case, i decided she was intriguing in my mind, i gave her free reign, this unremarkable girl in mahogany rimmed glasses. so as i contented myself with not knowing, there she was, standing in line cradling her books while surveying the menu. nothing in particular was going through my mind when i determined to ask her name.
some severe case of tunnel vision handicapped my senses because there is a deplorable gap in my conscious memory between holding a bag of coffee beans in the back room to standing at the cash register.
'hi, what can i get for you?'
'just an iced coffee please'
'and your name?' the anticipation, the unwarranted joy-
she gave me a bemused and quizzical look as she opened her mouth, paused, pursed her lips. 'you were in my architecture class last semester. my name is' my brain malfunctioned, and i don't remember the name she said afterwards, even as i wrote it onto the plastic cup. she was perhaps an angel who dragged my fantasy to meet reality in a discordant and dissonant collision, an angel who was now walking out of the cafe with iced coffee in hand. maybe it was the sleep deprivation from late nights in the studio, or maybe the intoxicating scent of coffee beans, because i felt intrigue rush through my veins with an anticipatory and impatient pulse."
sidenotes;
part I
this is a story of objectification, romanticizing fantasies, a boy who doesn't learn his lesson, a nameless girl whose influence goes beyond her awareness, a critique of popular portrayals of romance, a facetious satire. because i've felt objectified; because i have been called unremarkable, because i people watch, because i remember names, because i don't know how boys think, because i often wonder at the inner world of strangers standing beside me. and also because i love cafes.
