Sugar, Carpet and A Stranger (2/3)
“Medium black coffee for Andrew?”
I call out a second time and he still doesn’t move an inch. I’m sure he’s hearing me, as there isn’t much in the room to distract him. It seems to me as if he’s staring at the ground, lifeless. Sort of strange, isn’t it?
I realize I don’t know “Andrew,” or at least I’ve never seen him before. Come to think of it, I don’t really know much of anyone. That can’t be right. Surely I know someone? Sheesh, maybe I also need a coffee right about now.
My waffling is interrupted by a slow movement in the man’s upper body. He straightens his back and begins scanning the scenery nearby.
The large foyer the two of us inhabit is quite the sight. An art student’s nightmare; or maybe their dream? The furniture is all constructed of a beautiful green leather, almost pistachio in tint. It has curves, no edges, and a vaguely hilly appearance. It reminds me of a field of grass or even mountainous meadows. The carpeted floor is soft and orange, almost like a fading burnt red. It is reminiscent of a dry mesa filled with that rust-colored dirt whose stains last forever. I’m not sure how I know that, since I have never been to such a place. I guess the little fact seems believable enough. My little shop is tucked away in a corner, unsuspecting but charming enough. The walls of this large abode are off-white, vaguely gray. I think they match perfectly with the other colors, bringing out the vibrance of the furniture-on-floor contrast.
I love working at the cafe, though I’m still unsure why. It just feels embedded within me to take pleasure in it. It’s why I don’t easily lose patience with unpunctual customers. Customers like Andrew, it appears.
Speaking of Andrew, he is on his feet now. The warmth of the cup spreads to my hand as I wait longer yet. At last he turns and makes his way towards me. Now I am sure I do not know Andrew. Meeting someone as handsome as he is would have surely lingered in my memory. That is a crazy thing to think, Lor.
I realize how odd it is that I’m still standing here with this stranger’s drink. Normally, I would set it on the counter and let them grab it on their own time. Why am I doing this? Do I want something from him? What do I want?
“Andrew, right?” The words come out sweet and friendly. Hopefully now he will know I’m not being impatient. We have been looking at each other for a bit now, as if both of us have agreed to do so until each has sufficiently studied the face of the other. Once again, he is very handsome. Oh, Lor. Not again.
Now I actually look at his eyes. Now we are actually making eye contact. Now say something. You have to say something.
“Are you… sure you don’t want sugar or…” I give up on that sentence. This is happening and I suppose it’s best not to try and stop it. There is such a look of peacefulness on his face, making my nervous comment seem pathetic. It seems like he’s done this a thousand times before. It is clear he has. It is clear I’m shook. Guess I should give him the coffee. My thoughts are sarcastic. I fall into these moments far too easily. Our fingers brush in the process of trading the cup. Well, more like his finger touches mine. I’d rather be on the receiving end of this situation…
You know that feeling when your stomach flutters and your heart beats a little faster? The room quiets and all distractions fade to black? Why do I even know what that’s like? Oh lord I’m blushing. I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I can only imagine the rosy pink color. It’s sure to expose my vulnerable state of mind.
Suddenly, I’m struck with an unfamiliar feeling. A sensation. Who am I staring at? Normally I would feel the caution and nerves which come from talking to a stranger, but not now. Andrew is different. This room is different. What are you thinking? This room is the same every day. I try to picture the past customers I’ve served. Has this ever happened before? Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember any previous interactions. Surely there have been some. Of course there have been.
Now I’m scanning the room, breaking the bond of our eyes. Soon enough I’ve surveyed every inch of wall, floor and ceiling. Not a single door. Not a window in sight. Where am I? What kind of place has no doors? I want to ask Andrew if he has ever noticed this. Should we be worried?
Before I can speak I feel fingers grabbing mine. His touch is light and careful. It cares. He cares. He shakes his head as if to say “Don’t worry.”
Spinning.
My head is spinning. I forget my worries from a minute ago. I’m falling.
Falling in love? Yes, somehow.
Then nothing.
I pull my fingers away from their tender embrace.
I’m back between the light colored walls, above the burnt orange carpet, and nearby the man I love. I love him? Why do I love him? I don’t even know him. That’s true, but it doesn’t change the fact. I have to say something. Once again he makes his move just as I think to speak. He swipes his drink off the counter to my left and turns his back on me. I can tell he doesn’t wish to leave me. He has to.
As he makes off towards his seat, I squeeze out all I can think to say.
“Why do…” Lor, this is ridiculous. “Why do I love you?” Obviously he doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t break his stride. This is where it normally ends, but I continue thinking. Normally I can’t reason through anything like this. I’m often stumped by such situations. Nothing really makes sense at all. I love a man I don’t know, yet I think he knows me somehow. He knows what I’m thinking, better than I even do.
His name… it’s not Andrew.
A wave of nostalgia washes over me. I’m overwhelmed with fear, dread, hope and elation. Memory of a plan, a consequence, a life. No details. A whole book with chapters, paragraphs, sentences, but no words to be found. It’s on the tip of my tongue, the whole answer. Even his real name. The hurricane in my skull intensifies. My mind is a whirlwind. This has never happened before. Just as he lifts the cup to his lips, I spit out all I can think to say. The mere thought makes me smile.
“Your name isn’t Andrew, is it?” I’m beaming now. I smile from ear to ear. I know this man, and I am near a breakthrough which will change my life. I will be happy again, picking up where I left off. My dream partner whips his head around with such speed he nearly falls off his seat. My smile doesn’t fade. There is a look of shock so potent in his expression. His peaceful disposition transforms to one of excitement. I know I said the right thing.
Oh…
He looks unwell.
Then he falls.
I shut my eyes.
I can never bear to see him hit the ground.
It happens every time.
I come back to earth and inspect the steaming cup within my grasp. I need to stop zoning out. I was making this for someone, right? What was their name again? I scan the cup, eyes landing on a name written in Sharpie. Ah yes, Andrew. Medium black coffee. Seems bland. I wonder if he wants sugar or anything? I’ll be sure to ask.
“Andrew?” My call rings through the near empty atrium. All I hear is a faint buzzing across the rust-red carpet. My ears ring faintly from lack of noise.
“Medium black coffee for Andrew?”