The Coffee House

In the beginning we only met there by mistake. I would walk into the café and order my daily mocca with soy milk, and some times I would run into him. Through the corner of my eye I would notice his daily selection of the decafe latte. Sometimes I would stay a little bit longer in X and talk to the girl behind the counter. She and I went to high school together, and I would properly ask her about her new baby and her fathers heart condition, while also over hearing his order behind me. Every once in a while we would meet brush by each other, while leaving the coffee house. I would smile and say excuse me, and pass on.

In those days, I was intensely interested in this strange boy with short brown hair. He was so plain that anyone would have normally lost him in a crowd. Because he was so plain, it took me months to realize that he really existed. But once I singled him out, he was difficult to forget. I do not know what curiosity drew me to him, but I was always straining myself to hear his words as he order, “one tall decafe latte, to go please.”

Months went by and we both would cross paths, everyday, ordering coffee. This place, which, was supposed to be a meeting place, was nothing more then a train station where people entered and left.

The isolation those days was almost unbearable.