Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Coffee Connection

By: Camille Santos

Here she comes – a regular customer – this time she’s got a backpack. I bet she’s bringing her leather-bound, dog-eared notebook again; she does so every other day. It’s hard not to notice her because she comes in during the afternoon when there aren’t many customers around, and besides, she always orders the same beverage – iced café mocha, double espresso – and sits at the same table every single time she comes here.


Oh great! He’s behind the counter today. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him all week. I think he’s cool – I used to see him at school a year ago, I think he was taking up arts – but then he disappeared. I used to wonder where he went, because I think he is awesome, and it would be such a waste if he can’t complete his education – anyway. I found him here at the start of the new semester.
I better place my order now, though.


Okay, here we go!

I take her order. She goes to her usual seat at the far corner of the café. Something’s up with her today - her hair, maybe? Nah. I busy myself with preparing her drink. Business is quite slow today, though. No one has come in since lunchtime except her. Maybe it’s the weather.

Should I call out her name? Maybe – but hey, she looks busy. I wonder what she’s writing in that notebook. A poem? A story, perhaps? Or maybe she’s doodling in it, like I used to.

Okay. So maybe I should just approach her. Save her the trouble of fetching her drink from here.
[Chuckles uncomfortably]


My goodness. Is it just me, or is he walking towards me with my drink in hand?
I should probably be concentrating on my writing. I. Must. Look. Casual.

I put my notebook down and pretend to flex my fingers a bit, which, I realized, is pathetic – I haven’t been doing a lot of writing since I sat on this stool a few minutes ago. In any case, he places my drink on table with a generic “here you go”.

Oh. He’s just being nice.


And now I wait, hoping she comes across the note I have written on one of the table napkins.


Seriously, what the heck?! I spilled some of my drink onto my notebook. I must look like a total klutz to that guy at the register – not that he’s looking at me or anything… but still.


Okaaaaay… she spilled her drink.
[Clears throat]

Oh good, she’s grabbing some table napkins! I hope she won’t use the one I wrote my note on.


Good thing he gave me lots of table napkins. He must’ve anticipated this – is he psychic or something?
[Smiles to herself]

I should write about this sometime. Psychic barista! He knows your orders before you place ‘em!

What’s this?

“You have skin woven from the fibers
Of shooting stars and a voice that
Sounds like iambic pentameter
Sonnets in the summertime.
You are beautiful.
Keep smiling.”


Looks like she spotted my note. It’s a lame attempt at poetry, really. She’s looking around.
Look at me, look at me…


He’s looking at me expectantly from behind the pastry display shelf.

Our eyes meet.

He smiles a sheepish, somewhat goofy smile.


She raises her glass and smiles at me.

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