The Coffee Shop

Freya wasn’t a person you walked past and glanced over your shoulder at, only to keep moving forward — you’d stop and take her in. She wasn’t a person only standing ahead of you in line that disappeared by the time it’s your turn, and the cashier checks you out — you’d still smell her long after she left. She wasn’t someone you’d forget about come morning again — she consumed your thoughts at night, into the next day, and throughout the week until you caught a glimpse again. Freya is light. She is magic in the room you stand in.

Magic and light won't come to you when you’re asking for it. One day, when you least expect it, you are rewarded with it once you’ve finally accepted yourself as you are, and I have earned my light…I will not let it slip from me once I have it in my hands. A Tuesday smothered with rain, humidity, and sorrow woke me with a start in the morning, and I counted the stars stuck on my ceiling above my bed.

One, two, three, four, five, si-

Rain clatters at my window.

One, two, three, fou-

Wind ensues and the newest, thinnest branch of the tree beside my house that took forty-nine days to grow, scratches the pane.

One, two, thre-

Another scratch.

The rain has really begun to pour once I’m out the side door. Hot, thick drops hit my face as I walked along the house to my bedroom window, all the way to the tree that found a home beside me, slept with me through nightmares and haunting midnights. I take the branch in my hands and pull down once, hard, with my entire body weight, and the thin branch rips from the truck and collides with the wet ground, my body atop.

Back in my bed, my wet clothes soak the sheets as I lay below the star stickers on the ceiling once more. I made it to fifty-two, almost the same number I’ve counted the last eight years since I put them up there, save the four fallen last summer when the weather got hot and sweated them off, falling to my bed.

One, two, three, is the pattern of steps I take before each crack in the concrete, each separate slab is a three step count and safely moves me toward the cross walk.

One, two, three, I press the button at the light with my elbow and count to fifteen. A walking light peers through the rain and I step only on the white lines until I’m back to my three step pattern. Ninety eight more steps, and I arrive at the small coffee shop at the corner of the next block, pushing open the door and shaking the rain from my hair. Seven steps that I turn into eight smaller ones as I avoid the cracks between each tile on the ground. Hadley, the cashier, smiles and asks how my walk was.

“Just fine,” I hear myself say, and I can see her watch the rain dripping down my arms.

“Your usual,” it isn’t a question as Hadley rings me up for $3.95 and I hand her four crumped bills from the inside of my raincoat. When she hands me back the nickel, I drop it into her tip jar and it clinks against three quarters.

“Thank you,” I move from the cash register over to the open counter and watch Jose make my coffee in careful, but efficient steps. He finishes in two minutes and fifteen seconds, three seconds faster than yesterday, and slides it across the counter toward me. “Thank you,” I repeat and he smiles his crooked smile.

“Always welcome,” he turns and starts his next order, careful, and efficient.

I take my table in the back, right corner. The same chair, the same table for the last seventy-two weeks.

Then it happens— something I never thought would happen to be. Love. A longing feeling I’ve looked for in every person on the street.

She walked in and shook the rain from her coat, and I thought my eyes were deceiving me. There was never a creature more beautiful, more elegant, than the one heading toward Hadley to place her order. I watched as she carefully pushed her wet hair from her face and looked up at the menu. Was it her first time here? I’d never seen her before. I check my watch, not wanting to tear my eyes from her, but needing a reasoning for missing her appearance in the last seventy-two weeks. 9:47am. I arrived a little earlier than usual this morning. Perhaps she works nearby and pops in before her 10:00am shift.

“Americano,” the words slip off her tongue, and my body shudders as the sweet, innocent, alluring sound comes from her throat. Her throat. It's slender and white. It follows her collarbones, peeking from her navy blue V-neck shirt. Her shirt. It drapes low on her hips, but I could see the shape of them when she walked through the doors. I wanted to grab them.

“Can I get a name for the order, please?” Hadley asks, and I know it is her first trip to the coffee shop. I lean forward onto my table, wanting to be sure I wouldn’t miss it. The name of the woman I’d just fallen for. What I could whisper to myself in sorrow, or when I grasp her face in my hands, the name I’d repeat when I couldn’t sleep at night, yes, the one I’d shudder for the rest of my existence.

“Freya,” she moved from leaning on one hip to the next, and placed a crisp five-dollar bill on the counter. Her fingers, slender and long, tapped the bill as she waited for Hadley to write her name on the cup.

Freya. Freyafreyafreya. How lovely of a name, and it fits her just perfectly. When Hadley returns change back to her, she drops the two dollar bills into the tip jar. Five dollars for an americano. Her coffee order, her name, her hair, her body, it was all so sexy. It was hard to watch from this far away and not grab her from the pickup counter, show her how much I love her.

And then, as quickly as she came, she was gone. Her drink was ready in no time, and she scooped it in one quick motion, all while turning her body back toward the door. Freya pulled on her coat, and stepped out into the rain.

Before I had time to grasp that she was out of my line of sight, so eager to watch her slip through the door, she was gone. I jolted from my seat, like a magnetic force was pulling me, avoiding the tile cracks in careful small steps, and soon, I was on the sidewalk standing in the rain and looking around for another glance of Freya.

There. She walked away from the coffee shop, just to the right. She sipped her americano as she walked away from me, and I began to follow her track. As I made note of the way her heels splashed against the wet road, everything inside of me started to make sense. This was love, the one thing I'd been waiting for. And I’d done good by the universe — I deserved to find this, to find Freya. I couldn’t let her shoes out of my sight, the way she perfectly walked in the stilettos, without thinking, just hovering above the slippery path. Her legs followed the tight line of her skirt, modest, and business-casual. If only I could see her knees, I knew they were beautiful too. The way the top of her skirt hugged around—

She slipped inside of a building and disappeared. I started to run, I’d forgotten I was in the rain and almost tripped over a pothole. I'd never walked to the left of the coffee shop, and the walking (now running) pattern was different. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. As I came into sight with the windows of the building, I saw her entering an elevator, alone, dripping wet hair. She was gone. I fell to my knees right there, outside the building. I’d let her slip away, just like that.

My bed, wet again from the rain, consoled my cold body. The smell, wetness of my hair reminded me of Freya, how the rain had clung to her when we met. I smiled thinking of it, the day we met. It was today. Today, I’d fallen in love. These were the clothes I’d worn, the way my mouth tasted, full of coffee. The rain. My clothes melted off of me, more than damp, still. I pulled off my shirt first, and twisted the fabric until the rain water was falling onto my bare chest, the feeling electrifying every inch of me. My pants, they fell from my ankles and I watched as I rung them out along my thighs. This was how much I loved her. I’d lay my naked body in the rain where she walked, begging her to step over me with her heels, puncture my heart, lean down, and kiss me until the rain stopped.

When I wake, the rain had stopped. Our rain, the rain that brought us together, had ended. I check the time, and there is enough of it to dress and make it to the coffee shop, to see if Frey might be there at the same time, only moments earlier than my own schedule every day.

One, two, three.

One, two, three.

One, two, three.

I arrived at 9:30am today.

Hadley asked how come I’m here so early. I shrug and order, scooting my payment across the counter in quarters. My drink is hot when I take a sip, and check the time.

9:33am.

Where is she?

I stick my finger into the cup, stirring it together until it burns too bad. Seven stirs, that’s not a lot. It makes me uncomfortable.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. There!

9:35am.

It’s still early. But what if she decided on a new coffee shop today?

I force my eyes on a spot out the window, where I imagine I will get my first glance at her, turning the corner to walk in and be in my line of sight once more. Yes. I can feel her coming. I wonder what she will be wearing. I want her shirt to be tighter today. White. A skirt a bit shorter. It’s no longer raining, and she could afford to show more skin. Please, come in wearing a white shirt.

9:45am.

23 hours, 58 minutes since we met. Any moment now.

My chest heaves and I try to drink my coffee, but I cannot swallow. My heart races and I have to put my hand to my chest to be sure it won’t escape.

9:46am.

Only a moment longer until we’re together again.

9:47am.

She’s gone forever, I let her slip away. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve love. I need more time. I need so much more time to become someone who deserves love. Freya.

9:48am.

The door opens. She’s there, not in white, but light gray. And she’s beautiful. How could I ask her to wear any color other than the one she chooses this morning. Everything looks beautiful on her. I feel a tear escape down my cheek, moving my body, and my coffee, to a few tables closer. She walks up, checking the watch around her thin wrist, and taps her foot as she waits on Hadley to greet her. I move from the table, and walk toward the counter mindlessly. My feet have carried me here. I press my teeth down into the inside of my bottom lip, breaking skin and pooling blood onto my tongue. I’m directly behind her, Freya, my love.

Feel me here, behind you.

Her hair, dry today, falls in long curls down her back, carefully twisted and smoothed. I reach for them, brush the back of my fingers against the thick, glossiness of her locks. I bring my fingers up to my nose, and inhale deep.

Freya, you have no idea how much I need you.

What is this itch I am feeling? I tug at my ear, the right side, then the left. Something doesn’t feel right. The air is different, and I feel off balance on one side of my body. As much as it pains me to tear my eyes from the back of Freya’s head, I glance to the ground, to my feet. There they sit, attached to my body, which has not allowed itself to step on a crack in the road, flooring, pavement or streets in over seven years. My left foot, just under my toes, is the line of the tile running just underneath. I felt it then, even more. The unbalance, the way the crack felt through my shoe, I could feel. It.

It feels like I could stumble over and fall here, in the coffee shop. My left leg goes numb, and I can’t explain how wired my brain has become, seven years of perfect steps to and from the coffee shop, all gone. All because of Freya. My Freya. It couldn’t have been her.

The numbness and tingling in my leg is too much to manage, and I feel it giving in, like it’s sinking into the grout of the tile crack. It gives, and my body falls to the ground, much like when I put my full force onto the tree branch yesterday morning. And now I’m feeling them all— all of the cracks in the tile of the coffee shop floor. They swallow me as I thrash around, and it isn’t until my leg collides with the back of Freya’s skirt — her black skirt with the frayed edges and yes, it rests above her knees today. And they are everything I imagined — that she notices me. The first time she catches my eyes, and I’m inconsolable beneath her. But the look I longed for, the aching love and intimacy I’d craved from her stare, didn’t come. It was fear and confusion, but she looked so beautiful being afraid of me. I scream, and Hadley stands behind the counter, not quite knowing what to do.

Jose has set down whatever drink he was making to come around to me, and I can’t say what makes me flail and strike him on the arm, but he’s backing away from me now and Freya clutches her chest, moving toward him.

“Freya, please,” I plead, and she looks around at everyone, becoming terrified. “Please, help me. I can feel all of the cracks, I can feel them everywhere.” It was true, but I couldn’t get up without touching them more. She shudders her next breath.

“I have no idea who you are,” her eyes begin to well, and everything is all wrong now, because I love her, and she is scared of me. I move my body toward her, using my hands to pull myself to her shoe, carefully placing my palms in the center of each tile. I grip onto the toe of her stiletto. They are black again. “Don’t touch me! How do you know my name?”

“I love you,” I pleaded. “Please.”

My body begins to calm, but only because I am tired. I let myself sink into the cracks. They consume me, and I let them take over every inch of my body. Many people start to surround me, but I just gape at the ceiling. I hear the clatter of Freya’s heels leave the coffee shop, running for the door. The buzz of everyone around me gets louder. They ask if I’m okay, but I will never be okay again. Because Freya is gone.