In walked the guy whose office was next door to the shop . The proximity had caused him a serious caffeine addiction and a lot of banter with the shop staff. She mused about the funny details and moments she was able to observe from behind a counter. This was her first job in the service industry, and though still in training, she was enjoying it. This particular customer was always amusing and seemed to know everyone. Her first week on the job she assumed he was gay because she overheard him talking to some older women about never wanting to get married and enjoying salsa dancing all the while wearing rather form-fitting pants.
"Hi, the usual." He quipped handing her his drink card.
"Flat, vanilla latte?" She confirmed, as he actually often ordered black coffee as the day wore on.
"Tepid." He reminded.
She nodded, thinking, "I know. The high-maintenance drink."
"You have a pretty smile," he complimented.
Two days ago it was her eyes, "Thanks," she said.
"So," He pried, "is there a man in your life?"
She smiled. He was harmlessly flirtatious, but she was not about to date a customer, or anyone for that matter. "No, but I just got out of a three year relationship..." she informed him trying to find the words to express that she was not exactly available.
"So, it's probably not a good time to ask you to have dinner with me?" He stated while still asking.
"No. You'd need to check back in about five months," she answered and hoped it deflated his interest.
"Alright," he replied, taking his drink with a nod of thanks and a tip.
She worked over the weekend and he did not. The next time her shift overlapped his morning coffee he smiled and asked, "Has it been five months yet?" to teasingly avoid any awkward moment.
"No," she said but could not help but smile at his persistence.
He found her a few days later with her attentions primarily directed at "Crime and Punishment," though she had not unintentionally sat at the closest table to his office outside her shop.
He sat down and they began talking about Russian literature and life. Unbeknown to her, T was driving by and observed their interaction. When she saw him at school Monday he mentioned seeing her conversing with an older business man and asked her if she'd had a job interview.
"Oh, no," she said, remembering. "That's just A, he works next door." She did not mention the pool game they wound up playing to escape the interruption of one of the local crazies who wanted to talk to them about her imaginary horse for well over 45 minutes. The game gave her the opportunity to better explain her problem with the whole practice of American dating, and to reiterate that she would not date him, but that she could get to know him casually so long as he was only ever himself and did not try to woo her.
T was not yet threatened, and yet not quite reassured, either. This time she seemed far more resolved that there were no more chances for them, and he worried that another man would not squander an opportunity at her heart. He resolved that neither would he squander one last opportunity if he could just convince her to give it.
Friday, October 12, 2007
A Picture of Loves - part 4
She and D were more ready than the customers to close shop as usual. Balancing school, work, and your early 20's was quite an act, and they knew they would finish their closing chores quickly. She switched the sign to close and quickly escaped outdoors to bring in furniture, and avoid the eyes and questions D would undoubtedly corner her with.
She walked back in making brief eye contact, but it was all the invitation he needed.
"So, when are you getting married?" He asked teasingly.
She rolled her eyes at him, "It was just a date."
"You LIKE him," he insisted.
"No, I don't," she insisted.
"Yes, you do. So, when is the wedding?" he continued in mock earnestness.
"D, seriously, I don't like him" she opened her eyes wide to show her sincerity.
"Seriously, you do. You can tell me," he said, implying her secret was safe from his roommate, her previously believed soul-mate.
"I don't like him. I think I could like him, but I don't like him. We barely know each other!" She told him all there was to tell.
"Right. Okay. But you'll send me an invitation, right?" he said, always knowing when to stop, but somehow always getting away with never doing so.
She knew he did not approve at all. D had watched A with other girls at the shop and he was convinced A was either a player or would happily marry anyone at all under 30. She disagreed. She saw something genuine in his goofiness and grin. She really did not like him, but she did enjoy his company. Further she had decided to indulge his desire for them to continue to get to know one another. Primarily because of a note A had brought her a few days earlier. It was a scribbled quote from Henry Vincent that read: "Contact with a high-minded woman is good for the life of any man." For her this meant two important things. One, he read books. Two, he saw their interactions as worthwhile even if they never did amount to a relationship.
She processed later with another co-worker, G, about D's concern that A just wanted to get married. G, a married man himself, shrugged, "What's wrong with knowing you want to get married? A's a good guy."
Sensible, she thought. And so it began.
She walked back in making brief eye contact, but it was all the invitation he needed.
"So, when are you getting married?" He asked teasingly.
She rolled her eyes at him, "It was just a date."
"You LIKE him," he insisted.
"No, I don't," she insisted.
"Yes, you do. So, when is the wedding?" he continued in mock earnestness.
"D, seriously, I don't like him" she opened her eyes wide to show her sincerity.
"Seriously, you do. You can tell me," he said, implying her secret was safe from his roommate, her previously believed soul-mate.
"I don't like him. I think I could like him, but I don't like him. We barely know each other!" She told him all there was to tell.
"Right. Okay. But you'll send me an invitation, right?" he said, always knowing when to stop, but somehow always getting away with never doing so.
She knew he did not approve at all. D had watched A with other girls at the shop and he was convinced A was either a player or would happily marry anyone at all under 30. She disagreed. She saw something genuine in his goofiness and grin. She really did not like him, but she did enjoy his company. Further she had decided to indulge his desire for them to continue to get to know one another. Primarily because of a note A had brought her a few days earlier. It was a scribbled quote from Henry Vincent that read: "Contact with a high-minded woman is good for the life of any man." For her this meant two important things. One, he read books. Two, he saw their interactions as worthwhile even if they never did amount to a relationship.
She processed later with another co-worker, G, about D's concern that A just wanted to get married. G, a married man himself, shrugged, "What's wrong with knowing you want to get married? A's a good guy."
Sensible, she thought. And so it began.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Picture of Loves - part 3
They climbed back into her car taking a break from holding hands only long enough to place the seat belts in those intruding bucket seats into their respective clasps. She pulled away from the parking lot and the dock that had been host to many long hours of conversation bearing their souls in the dark after their tea house had closed. She knew they were headed anywhere but to their respective homes as such a declaration must be reveled and reassured by hearing the rest of the words that they had both kept veiled for the past 6 weeks.
Meandering the back roads on the west side of Portland's Willamette river, they discovered a park and ambled out of the car and onto the swings to have a little taste of the flying they both felt from the assurance of the other's devotion. They were then off to the top of a play structure to feel the chill of the early morning seep into their bodies from the metal platform while unfolding secrets melted their hearts together.
"I'm afraid," he confessed. This love was playing in a territory neither of them had known with their high school romances. Those relationships played house; this one threatened the reality of four cracked walls and oatmeal breakfasts. "What are you afraid of?" he asked her.
"I'm not," she told him, "'Perfect love casts out fear,'" said with bewildering confident assurance. She was not afraid. If there were such a thing as a soul mate, he was hers. They seamlessly worked along side of each other serving people throughout the week. They spent hours in respectful, engaging dialog in philosophy and theology. They enjoyed the same epicurean delights and foreign films. Their histories were so similar that empathy and sympathy enveloped all their confessions and errors. She could not fathom a more perfect companion.
He was at a loss for an adequate reply, but began talking all the same. He worried about how their news would effect his best friend, Z. He asked her how long they would have to wait to wed to give Z enough time to recover from seeing that his ex-fiance had only ever loved his friend. She thought a year would do to wait for engagement, and perhaps another month of silence before exposing their affections to him. Silence seemed impossible. A year seemed like more than seven, but at least they could count the days.
They did have a few confidants, one of which, C, chaperoned their good-bye a few mornings later as she was taken by train home to see her family to celebrate her 20 years of life. They hugged their usual farewell but he handed her a book steeped in incense to read on her journey. The cover was understated in a way that promised richness with a simple title, "Broken Wings". He leaned in for a first kiss - on her forehead, their lips would not meet for another year longer - and watched C drive her away to meet her train and separate her from him for what would feel like too long.
As the train wheels set in motion, her mind began spinning through all the events, confessions, and plans of the last few days. She inhaled deeply the pages of the book as she began to read a tragic tale of two lovers in a culture where love was not what bound one in marriage. Devouring the poetic pages she came to the end long before her destination. Then in tears, she fell asleep.
Meandering the back roads on the west side of Portland's Willamette river, they discovered a park and ambled out of the car and onto the swings to have a little taste of the flying they both felt from the assurance of the other's devotion. They were then off to the top of a play structure to feel the chill of the early morning seep into their bodies from the metal platform while unfolding secrets melted their hearts together.
"I'm afraid," he confessed. This love was playing in a territory neither of them had known with their high school romances. Those relationships played house; this one threatened the reality of four cracked walls and oatmeal breakfasts. "What are you afraid of?" he asked her.
"I'm not," she told him, "'Perfect love casts out fear,'" said with bewildering confident assurance. She was not afraid. If there were such a thing as a soul mate, he was hers. They seamlessly worked along side of each other serving people throughout the week. They spent hours in respectful, engaging dialog in philosophy and theology. They enjoyed the same epicurean delights and foreign films. Their histories were so similar that empathy and sympathy enveloped all their confessions and errors. She could not fathom a more perfect companion.
He was at a loss for an adequate reply, but began talking all the same. He worried about how their news would effect his best friend, Z. He asked her how long they would have to wait to wed to give Z enough time to recover from seeing that his ex-fiance had only ever loved his friend. She thought a year would do to wait for engagement, and perhaps another month of silence before exposing their affections to him. Silence seemed impossible. A year seemed like more than seven, but at least they could count the days.
They did have a few confidants, one of which, C, chaperoned their good-bye a few mornings later as she was taken by train home to see her family to celebrate her 20 years of life. They hugged their usual farewell but he handed her a book steeped in incense to read on her journey. The cover was understated in a way that promised richness with a simple title, "Broken Wings". He leaned in for a first kiss - on her forehead, their lips would not meet for another year longer - and watched C drive her away to meet her train and separate her from him for what would feel like too long.
As the train wheels set in motion, her mind began spinning through all the events, confessions, and plans of the last few days. She inhaled deeply the pages of the book as she began to read a tragic tale of two lovers in a culture where love was not what bound one in marriage. Devouring the poetic pages she came to the end long before her destination. Then in tears, she fell asleep.
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