T-to-the-A

A spot of fiction…

In Fiction, Prose on February 1, 2009 at 6:43 pm

It was filled with that coffee house music, Godless ambianic music meant to mean something.  To whom exactly I don’t know.  Certainly not the menopausal women who stood in front of me, arguing about which one had snack duty and who’s kid made more dooty… 

Encapsulating romance…that’s what I garner from the cat-crying over-head.  I order my hot chocolate, “Whole milk, yes I want whip cream.”  The woman looks me over, up and down. “That’s right!” I feel like screaming in her anorexic face.  “I said whole milk!  With WHIPPED CREAM, calorie for yummy calorie.  My metabolism runs the marathons, all of them.  It’s not my fault my bones need the calcium.  Vitamin D helps them drink.”  She drags her sullen feet towards the mystery machine making mochacino marvels.  I’m thirsty.

I wait.  There is a haze of longing ‘round my neck, pulling me inside.  Internal combustion, infernal seduction… I’m swept up in my fantasies.  If I could exist only in dreams, I think, everything would be perfect.  Enough drama to keep things interesting, with happy endings to make me smile.  I’m swaying with the ambiance, remembering romance with my hips. “$2.40” she says.  I quite my daydream and reach into my pocket.  3 seconds later we make the exchange and it’s all over for our affair. 

I turn around.  My God, there he is.  Standing behind me with my heart in his hands.  My hands hold a cappuccino.  The coffee girl made a mistake.  Stumbling towards the counter, my tongue in my cheek, he puts his hand to my back.  The fire spreads down my spine, lighting my ass on fire.  An explosion.  “Please fix this” I plead to the girl who thinks we’re still talking about coffee.  “How are you?” he wonders.  He who has been absent.  He who has been indifferent.  He who has been out of reach for so long that my arms have grown 2 inches in the reaching… “How are you doing?” I’m fucking dying over here if I don’t get my God-damned hot chocolate!  Soulfully singing something about “okay” I look to his chin to avoid looking to his lips to avoid looking at his nose to avoid looking into his eyes.  MY GOD!  The eyes of a God.  Lightening and thunder, or thunder and lightening, it’s ripping the place apart…

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