This was actually written more than a year ago , a chapter from my book that is still in progress, but I thought it would fit so well here right now!
It is also a continuation from the Cafe Moment posted earlier, you can read it here.
It drizzled this morning. I was grateful for the warmth of the café.
Each time the door opened I stopped myself from turning to see if it was her. I looked at the newspaper, it helped calm me, I could not order any food, I felt nausea rising with the panic.
I smelt her perfume even before I saw her. She sat exactly opposite me again. I sipped the lukewarm coffee and pretended not to stare.
She did not look up. She pointed to the menu and nodded at the server. She looked sad.
My courage increased with her evident sadness. Her cheeks are flushed and her perfume intoxicated me.
I went over and sat on the chair next to her. She looked at me with misty eyes. I don’t speak and she stayed silent. I felt bolder and settled down.
I signaled the waitress to bring my coffee and newspaper over. The waitress brings her her frothy cup at the same time. We lifted our cups almost in unison and our eyes met for a brief moment.
We sat in silent agreement.
Her sadness weighed her shoulders down and I wanted to curve my arms around her. Instead I looked at her hands and let my fingers touch hers. I continued to read my paper. She continued to look down at our fingers touching slightly.
She moved a little, a jerk.
She has curled her fingers around mine. I felt her sigh through her skin.
Our lives turned and curved to meet at this point and I would take the opportunities that fate gave me.
“Hello, I am Lisa”, she says. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”
I am still holding her hand as we curved around the block and headed down main street away from the cafe where we first met.
This was originally written for the Word Press Daily Prompt from last year, here it is now with some revision. I have since captured the moment I thought I had lost forever!
When I worked the early shift in Auckland I would ride the bus down Mt. Eden Road and look into the shops starting business as early as 5am. There was one I wanted to go into so badly and so one morning off duty I rode the first bus out and had coffee at the Circus Circus!
The lights of the cafe had called out to the whimsical side of me and I am easily persuaded by twinkling lights. Its a tiny little place and you sit close to other early morning people and feel a companionship without having to speak just a nod or a smile and its like the place your heart has been looking for all this time.
I miss this little coffee shop on the slope of the hill, I miss the bright red and twinkling lights and I miss the flat white coffee in New Zealand.
I only went once because I waited to experience it with someone special but that day never came and I had already left the island. Lesson learned…..don’t wait too long.
And so now writing a revision to this little cafe moment I am happy to say I managed to capture the moment I thought lost forever. Just a few weeks ago I was fortunate enough to sit in the same cafe and with the person I wanted to from before. There was magic, thick in the air and so electric and the coffee never tasted so good!
Circus Circus is still there, and if you are ever in the land of the long white cloud I hope you will hop on over to this place where you must have coffee amid twinkling lights while the world starts to wake around you.
And watch the face of a special person over the frothy milky foam and slowly twirling aromatic mist from your coffee cup.
And never miss an opportunity to be in a cafe where a moment is captured and treasured forever!
I sit down at the café for breakfast. Order a coffee and look at the menu. The door opens and she walks in, almost blown in by the wind. I look back at the menu and glance at her. Almost like clockwork I see her again the same time every morning.
She sits at the table across from me and fidgets with the tablecloth, straightening the edges and cutlery. I wonder if she knows I am watching her. She’s interesting to watch.
Waitress takes my order then hers; I strain to hear her voice. Just a few syllables but I want to hear more. She has an accent I cannot place. Continue reading
I stumbled across the bones of this encounter in a journal I was keeping while my first marriage was ending and I was in a bad place. Consider this autobiographical fiction.
I sit alone in the coffee shop. It is the kind of self-conscious coffee shop that sells Fair-Trade coffee in large white ceramic mugs and serves food on mismatched china. The baristas are young, attractive, pierced and tattooed. Items are arranged on my table like a still-life. A half-eaten cookie sits on a dessert plate covered in pink cabbage roses. My iced coffee is half full, condensation leaving the thick glass sweaty and slippery. My copy of The Ethical Slut sits by my elbow while I write in my journal in purple ink. I joke to myself about purple prose. I am feeling self-conscious sitting alone but hoping that I look cool, mysterious. Continue reading